


Falling Skies

by VivatRex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels vs. Demons, Awesome Charlie, Boy Melodrama, Crowley Being Less of an Asshole, Demonic Possession, Fallen Angels, Flashbacks, Gabriel Lives, Hell, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kidnapping, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Pining, Reapers, Resurrection, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Saving the World, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Body, Slow Burn, Team Free Will, Telepathic Bond, Torture, Trials of Heaven, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 87
Words: 329,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivatRex/pseuds/VivatRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S9 AU: A violent war breaks out between Heaven and Hell, and mankind is caught in the crossfire. Team Free Will must go to extreme lengths to stop it, and along the way, they may discover more about themselves than they ever imagined. The choices that Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Crowley make in the coming months will decide the fate of the universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Downfall of Us All

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Spadając z nieba](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473610) by [BolesławPrus (Prus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prus/pseuds/Boles%C5%82awPrus)



> This fic is what I like to call canon irreverent - meaning that almost any canon established after 8x23 is completely disregarded. You'll find that Fergus's backstory isn't quite what it was on the show, and things have gone a little bit differently for Jimmy's surviving family. Just wanted to make it clear that I'm perfectly aware of what's happened in canon. I'm merely choosing to ignore it because I'm not going to stray from what this story is meant to be just because the show has decided to be nice and give us answers on things I'd thought they'd forgotten about.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sky is falling, Cas has no wings, and Crowley cries a lot.

"Angels...they're falling."

And so they were. Thin beams of shining light, descending like meteors from the stormy black clouds that hung in the overcast sky. It was both beautiful and frightening, and Sam didn't know what the hell it meant.

Sam felt a shudder rip through his chest, and he sagged against Dean. Even though he hadn't gone through with the final trial of rendering Crowley mortal, he still felt as though he was about to die. His very blood _burned_ , like he'd been incinerated from the inside out. His head throbbed in a continuous beat with his heart, and it seemed like his limbs were made of Jell-o. His eyes blurred with tears of agony.

Dean supported Sam, guiding him around the back of the Impala, then carefully laid him down in the backseat.

"Sammy?" Dean's hand patted his cheek. Sam tried to focus in on his brother as best as he could. "Sam, just stay with me, okay? We're gonna get you help, I promise. Everything's going to be fine."

"You d-don't know that," Sam managed, punctuating his statement with a haggard cough. A trickle of blood leaked down his chin. "You can't." He grabbed Dean's sleeve, his grip white-knuckled. He didn't know why he was doing it, but knowing that Dean was there made everything in his slowly fading world just a little more clear.

"I can," Dean insisted, removing Sam's hand from his arm and squeezing it tightly in his own. "I won't let anything happen to you." Dean squeezed his hand once more before releasing it and making for the driver's seat. Before he could slide in, however, Sam remembered that they had a prisoner inside of the dilapidated church.

 _"You, me - we deserve to be loved._ _I_ _deserve to be loved! I just want to be loved..."_

"Crowley," Sam choked, half-sitting up before collapsing back against the seat. "Go get Crowley. We can't leave him there."

"Like hell we can't!" Dean responded, turning to give Sam an incredulous look. "We're not dragging that douche bag along for the ride, Sam. You didn't complete the trial - not that I'm complaining, but he's still the King of Hell. He's not our buddy."

"He's g-got my blood inside of him," Sam protested, voice trembling. "You didn't see him in there, Dean... part of him is human, part of him is... it's _me_. He's my responsibility." He knew he wasn't making much sense, but he had to convince Dean to bring Crowley with them. His foggy mind couldn't fully grasp why, but it had to be done.

"You're not responsible for his demon ass!"

"Dean, please," he pleaded weakly. He didn't know why it suddenly mattered, but it did. As long as he had a say, Crowley was coming with them. "Please, just... just go back and get him."

Dean watched Sam for a long moment. Sam was half-sure that his brother would deny his request, but finally, Dean relented with a stiff nod, slamming the driver's side door shut before heading back towards the church. Sam let out a pent up breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding, and then let himself fade into blissful darkness.

* * *

If ever there was a time to hate the Winchesters, it was now.

Unfortunately, Crowley only had so much malice within him, and all of it was currently directed at himself, rendering him unable to fantasize about force-feeding the denim-clad nightmares their own innards, more's the pity.

Guilt. Remorse. Sorrow. Self-loathing. Pain - pain on a level he'd never experienced in the entirety of his long life, even after having been tortured by Hell's former best. He felt like someone had poured hot lava into his chest. His eyes were stinging with heat, and he felt tears trailing down his cheeks, irritating his bruised and lacerated skin from where Abaddon had beaten him.

Hundreds of faces flashed through his mind.

Men.

Women.

Children.

Demons.

Monsters.

All dead by his hand. Most of them tortured by his hand as well.

_My God, what have I become?_

He'd listened to their screams and reveled in it. He'd bathed in the blood of his enemies when he took Hell for himself, walked on their corpses with a smile on his face. He'd laughed as bodies writhed under flames and blades alike. He'd stolen, murdered, tortured - he felt bile rise in his throat at the vivid recollections playing out in his mind - he'd done whatever benefited him, no matter the cost, no matter how much blood he had to get on his hands.

At the time, he'd felt nothing other than cold, sadistic satisfaction. He was _winning,_ after all. He was the apex predator. He cared for nothing but power and possession and the rush they provided. The ends justified the means, didn't they? As long as he got what he desired, all those trampled on the way were just casualties of a greater good - his own greater good.

He was a demon. Icy. Unfeeling. Ruthless. _Perfect_. And now...

The spectacular remorse that gripped him was some of the worst torture he had ever experienced, and he'd suffered in Hell for the equivalent of centuries after the hounds had dragged him down. The storm inside of him that made him clench his hands so tightly that his fingernails were creating deep divots that drew blood, that made him feel like he was suffocating, dying from the inside out, like he was going to throw up everything inside of him - _that_ was torture. Far more potent than any tool he'd every used.

The things he'd _done..._

"Time to go."

Crowley jumped in the confines of the chair, the almost-throne he'd been trapped in for the past eight hours. He jerked his head up to meet the troubled green eyes of Dean Winchester. He had been so utterly lost in the dark stretches of his own mind that he hadn't even registered the hunter's presence in the room. He immediately felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment, fully aware of how pathetic he must look. He had to hold it together.

_This isn't behavior becoming of a king._

"Go?" he repeated hoarsely. He had dimly overheard the boys' conversation as to whether to complete the third trial and make him completely mortal, but had been too absorbed in himself to participate. But why would they free him? Why not just leave him here to rot for eternity?

Dean leaned down, and much to Crowley's surprise, the hunter slipped a small key out of his pocket and freed him of his restraints. Dean stepped back and scuffed his shoe along one of the spray paint lines just enough so that Crowley would be able to get out of the devil's trap.

"We're leaving. You're coming with us," Dean elaborated gruffly, crossing his arms and waiting for Crowley to rise. Crowley looked down at his hands, flexing them experimentally. He focused his energies to his right palm, with the intent to start a roaring flame as a test of his powers. A dull ember flickered for a moment, then faded.

"Centuries," he whispered, completely to himself. Humanity. It was the worst curse that the Winchesters could have laid upon him, and yet he couldn't even find it in himself to try to kill them for it. He didn't want to kill anyone, anymore.

For the first time, he was sick of killing.

"What?" Dean asked, brows furrowing in annoyed confusion.

"It took centuries in Hell for my humanity to be erased, to become a demon. In eight hours, your Moose put it back," he explained in a monotone, still staring down at his hands, completely sodden in his misery.

"Yeah, well, what can I say. We defy expectations. Now get it in gear, we need to find Cas, and Sam's hell-bent on you coming with us."

He tugged hard on the sleeve of Crowley's suit jacket, dragging him up and out of the chair. Crowley stood on weak legs, wobbling slightly. He suddenly hurt much more. Being a demon, his pain threshold was incredibly high. Now, however, his back ached from the hours of imprisonment in the chair. His neck smarted from the continuous injections he'd received from the younger Winchester, and his body throbbed due to his beating from Abaddon, Dean, and Sam, respectively, not that he hadn't deserved it with the last two.

Wait a minute. Had he just thought that he _deserved_ pain? Masochism was most certainly not one of his many vices. Dean snapped his fingers in front of Crowley's face.

"Come on!" he said loudly. "Sammy's in a bad way, and the friggin' sky's falling and, and..." his voice faltered for a moment. "I don't have time for this crap right now, Crowley!" The older Winchester seemed incredibly distressed.

He walked carefully past Dean and out of the devil's trap, making his way slowly to the door with the hunter watching him like a hawk. He looked over at Dean, and for the very first time, he saw Dean as an actual person. Not just an obstacle in his way, or a means to an end. 

Unfortunately, with that thought came memories of all that he had done to the Winchesters.

_"What's the line? Saving people, hunting things - the family business. Well, I think the people you save, they're how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, the pain you've caused... the one thing that lets you sleep at night, the one thing is knowing that these folks are still out there, happy and healthy, all because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes! They're your life's work, and I'm going to rip it apart, piece by piece. Because I can... because you can't stop me... and because when I'm done, what will you have left?"_

Sam had been begging for him to stop, chanting a steady stream of 'no's under his breath as Crowley's hex-bag killed Sarah. Crowley had just smirked to himself, knowing that he'd found his trump card, listening to the desperate pleas over the phone with satisfaction.

Castiel came to the forefront of his thoughts as well, as the angel was so tied to the Winchesters. He looked down at his hands, almost positive he would see blood there. Castiel's screams echoed through his mind, along with the squelching sound he'd heard while rummaging around inside the angel's internal organs in a hunt for the tablet. Castiel's whimpers as he'd withdrawn his hand, letting out a victorious laugh as he looked over his blood soaked prize... and all of that was on top of trying to turn Castiel against the only people in the world who gave a damn about him several years beforehand.

He suddenly realized that Castiel was two up on him. Being alone had never bothered him, not once. Occasionally it had brought on a degree of boredom, especially after Castiel had dissolved their partnership and he no longer had the source of banter and death threats, but he had never once felt lonely. But now, even with the older Winchester beside him, he felt more alone than he thought possible. He had called for his legions when he'd been captured by Sam and Dean, and what did he get? Beaten to a bloody pulp by Abaddon, that's what. Where was the loyalty? Where was the power? Where was _his_ power?

He had all of the souls of the damned behind him, and he'd never felt weaker.

Together, Crowley and Dean stepped out of the confines of the little church and out into the blustering wind. Crowley looked up, and was startled to see what appeared to be meteors cascading from the sky.

"What...?"

"Angels," Dean answered bluntly.

"The angels are falling?" Crowley asked, eyes widening. "How?"

"The scribe, Metatron... I think he tricked Cas into helping him with a spell that kicked all of the angels out of Heaven. Now they're coming down to Earth."

Crowley shook his head in slight awe. There were thousands of them, all raining from the sky. The Gates of Heaven had been slammed shut...

"Wonders never cease," he whispered, almost entirely to himself.

Dean made his way towards the car. Crowley looked away from the sky above and sighed heavily, wiping at his face. Blood smeared on his sleeve. He was going to need a new suit.

Crowley took a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure. He would be damned (ha ha) before he'd let himself cry like a bloody infant in front of Dean Winchester, of all people. He tried to center himself as best as he could before tailing after the hunter.

Soon enough, he found himself in the passenger seat of the Impala as Dean roared down the dirt road that led away from the church and along Lake Erie. The small church had been in Pennsylvania, apparently, near the peninsula.

As they began their trip to God only knew where, Crowley turned around in his seat to look at Sam. The hunter was curled up on his side, completely unconscious and looking rather the worse for wear. Crowley was blindsided by a strange emotion hitting him. After struggling for a few moments to identify it, he realized he was worried about Sam. Concerned, even.

"Is he alright?" he found himself asking in a quiet tone, much softer than he was accustomed to. Dean looked at him like he was completely and utterly insane.

"Why the hell do you care?"

"Humor me," Crowley growled, glaring at the Winchester. "Is. He. Alright."

"No, no he's not," Dean snapped. "This last trial nearly killed him, and I..." Dean's jaw tightened. He looked like he was about to crumble in the face of his little brother dying. Again. You'd think the Winchesters would've gotten used to losing each other, by now.

"You're not sure if he'll recover," Crowley surmised. "Where's your angel?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Dean said. "And it doesn't matter, Cas can't help him. He told us right before you _killed Meg_ -" The emphasis on the words was not lost on Crowley. "-that Sam's hurting in ways that even Cas can't mojo away."

Crowley's stomach twisted in a painful knot at the thought of Meg. Demon she might have been, but she was curiously different - she was bad, there was no questioning it, there was no such thing as a _good_ demon, but Meg had the _potential_ for good. She was capable of it, which was far more than he could say for himself.

He remembered the endless torture sessions with Meg. The unspeakable acts that hadn't seemed unspeakable at all at the time. He remembered beating on her mercilessly, relentlessly, a constant source of entertainment. His little demon whore.

He remembered the look in her eyes when he'd stabbed her, ending her life.

He promptly rolled down the Impala's window and leaned out of it. He vomited pure stomach acid onto the road, having not eaten anything in... well, quite a number of years. He couldn't recall how long. After he finished retching, he rolled the window back up and sagged back against his seat, fighting the heat in his eyes back with all he had.

"You're not doing so hot," Dean observed casually, eyes fixed firmly on the road, seeming nonplussed by his state of disrepair. Crowley ran a hand through his hair, gulping as he closed his eyes and tried to take deep, steady breaths. "How far did Sam's blood go, anyway? You all feelings and rainbows now?"

"I'm fine," Crowley answered tightly. "Moose blood just doesn't agree with my stomach."

Dean's expression told Crowley that the hunter hadn't bought his lie. "Welcome to humanity, Crowley," Dean said, seeming terribly satisfied with his predicament. Crowley glared at him before shifting to lean his head against the cool glass of the passenger side window. His eyelids seemed unusually heavy - was he tired? He hadn't been tired in hundreds of years. How strange.

Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep, the purr of the Impala's engine and the sound of the brothers' breathing in the almost silent car proving to be somewhat soothing.

* * *

Castiel realized that for the first time in his existence, he heard nothing. Silence. Even when he'd shut off the angel radio, there had still been a murmur in the back of his mind. Now, there were no whispers. He could no longer hear the song of the Heavenly Host. He was no longer connected to the other angels in any way.

The silence frightened him.

Castiel walked through the woods for an indeterminable amount of time, the crunch of his footsteps on the leafy forest floor his only company. He walked slowly, head bent up to the sky to watch the falling stars that were his brothers and sisters. He wondered if they would lose their Grace when the Gates of Heaven closed. Lose their Grace, just like him.

Of course, he didn't lose his, so much as it had been forcibly taken from him.

Even though Metatron had healed his throat, it still throbbed, and he could still feel the phantom sensation of the angel blade biting into his skin. Even worse was the fresh memory of his Grace leaking out of him, losing his powers, losing what made him an angel of the Lord.. it was burned into his mind. He had lost everything that he was, everything that he had ever been.

He was _human_. Not just powerless like he had been rendered shortly before Sam had thrown himself into the Cage. No, he was completely and utterly _human_. He was a human who couldn't spread out his awareness to find out where he was, to find out where Sam and Dean were. He couldn't heal with the touch of his fingers, as he found out when he tried to heal a scratch he had received while walking through the forest. He couldn't fly, because he had been horrified to find that his wings were simply _gone,_ gone as if they had never been there at all. The spots where they had once been ached horribly.

He was human. He was nothing.

After a span of time, the angels stopped falling, and the steadily darkening sky was still and calm. He stopped craning his neck and let his eyes fix in front of him. In the distance, he saw lights, and he heard the rush of cars racing by. Hopefully, he would be able to find a payphone and contact Dean. He made his way there, shivering slightly and pulling his trench coat tighter around him. For spring, it was a chilly evening.

The source of the lights came into view. A large rest stop splayed out in front of him. Weaving through the trees and down a slope, he made his way onto the pavement of the parking lot and then into the rest stop itself.

An interactive map on the wall informed him that he was about fifteen miles south of a city called Sandusky. He was in Ohio. He had no clue why he had been dropped there, of all places, but so be it. He managed to locate a line of several payphones nearby, and he asked a portly older woman if he could borrow some change. She smiled at him, said that he reminded her of her grandson, then promptly gave him a dollar.

He punched in Dean's number and waited for the hunter to pick up his phone.


	2. Locked Out of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas is broken, and Crowley remembers.

Dean's phone rang in his pocket. Fumbling, he quickly extricated it. He didn't recognize the number, but he hoped beyond hope that it would be Cas. He picked up, putting the phone to his ear as rain began to fall in thick, heavy droplets against the Impala's windshield.

"Hello?" he asked, not bothering to be quiet. He didn't care if he woke up Crowley. The demon was currently dozing fitfully in his seat, head lolled to the side. Seeing the demon king sleep was a trip, to say the least. It was strange to see Crowley looking so... vulnerable? That was the only word he could think to use.

"Dean." He let out a deep sigh of relief when he heard the familiar gravelly voice on the other end.

"Cas, thank God," he said. "Where are you, man?"

"A truck stop fifteen miles south of Sandusky, Ohio, on Interstate 80. I..." Castiel trailed off before falling silent.

"Cas?" Dean called his name.

"Did you see the sky?" he asked, the angel's voice so soft that he almost couldn't hear it at all. "Did you see them fall?"

"Yeah," Dean responded. "Yeah, I saw, Cas. Listen, are you okay?"

"No. Far from it. I can't speak for the other angels, but... I've lost my Grace. No, that's wrong... I didn't lose it. Metatron stole it from me."

"That bastard stole your mojo? Why? What's the point?"

"For _this_. My Grace, it was the last ingredient of a spell. He's slammed shut the Gates of Heaven. Now, there are thousands of us... thousands of _them_ ," he corrected, saying the word like a curse. "All walking the Earth, walking amongst men."

"Did they have their Grace taken, too? Are they mortal now?" Dean asked, panic slowly building in his chest at the consequences of Metatron's actions. Naomi had been right after all. _Guess we should've listened to the bitch._

"I don't know," Castiel responded tightly. "I don't know _anything_. My awareness, it's... I can't _see_ , I can't understand what's happening except for what's right in front of me."

Dean sighed, a rise of compassion for Castiel hitting him hard. Cas had lost one of the things that made him who he was. He couldn't imagine how the angel... ex-angel?... was feeling at the moment, but he knew from the stress and misery in Cas's voice that it wasn't anything good.

Yeah, he and Cas's friendship had been rocky for years now, and he really had begun to wonder if they could ever be what they were before Cas betrayed them and opened Purgatory. However, in that moment, he knew that all of the mistakes, the baggage, the resentment... it could be set to the side, at least for now. Because Cas was hurting. Because Cas needed him, and Dean would be damned before he let Castiel down the same way the angel tended to let him down.

"Cas, it's going to be alright, okay?" he said, using the same soothing tone he used with Sam. "I'm coming to get you." There was a long silence on the other end, so long that Dean was about to ask if Cas was still there.

"Please hurry," he said, and he'd never heard the angel of Thursday sound so small.

* * *

_Fergus leaned on the shovel, wiping sweat from where it had gathered under his hairline. He sighed, looking down at the small wooden cross he had stuck into the freshly dug earth over his father's grave. Into the grain of the cross, he'd carved the name 'Camdyn MacLeod'. Dysentery. What a bloody stupid thing to die of. And now, he was alone. His father was dead, and his mother was a waif who could barely move, bound to her bed by the curse that the demon Daityas had laid on her, forever trapped inside the horrors of her own mind._

_He was alone. He would be left to take care of his younger siblings and his dying mother, left to run the family business, being the sole authority figure and breadwinner of a family that was too much for him to handle. He was only seventeen, for the love of God! How was he to handle this all by himself?_

_"Fergus?" he heard a high voice squeak from behind him. He turned to see his six year old sister, in her little white dress, looking up at him with big brown eyes the same shade as his own. He sighed deeply, kneeling down on one knee so he could look the diminutive girl in the eye._

_"I thought I told you to stay inside, Rose," he said sternly. She frowned up at him._

_"I wanted to come see father."_

_"Yes. Well..." Fergus glanced back at the grave marker. "You can't see him now, Rosie. He's... he passed on. You know what that means, don't you?" Rose's lip trembled slightly, looking as though she was about to cry._

_"Hey, hey," he cupped her cheek, brushing her tears away with a thumb before tucking a stray lock of light brown hair behind her ear. "It'll be alright. It'll all be fine."_

_"Promise?" she whimpered, the tears continuing to stream down her cheeks as she looked past him and her eyes fixed on the grave._

_"I promise, Rosie," he said quietly, pulling her into a tight hug, stroking the back of her hair lightly. "I promise."_

A loud car horn beeped, and Crowley jumped, eyes opening in a flash and his heart thudding against his ribs. Blearily, he tried to assess his surroundings. That was  _not_ something he was used to, he wasn't used to waking up, to those few moments that were completely devoid of clarity.

He looked over to his left. Dean's face was illuminated by the headlights of passing cars. In the rearview mirror, he saw a still unconscious Sam curled up in the fetal position. The memories came rushing back, and he suddenly understood the relevance of the dream he'd just had.

Apparently, with his humanity, memories of his mortal life would start coming back to him. He grimaced. That was not something he was looking forward to. His torture in Hell had been enough to erase almost every part of his human life. He honestly only knew the barest details of the man that was Fergus Roderick MacLeod - he was a two-bit tailor from Canisbay who sold his soul for three extra inches of naughty bits. He remembered Gavin, of course, but only that he couldn't stand the little twat. Other than that, everything was almost a total blank.

Until now.

Now, he remembered a sister, and the father he had apparently buried in a lonely cemetery on a cold spring evening centuries ago. He shuddered at the emotion that swelled in his chest that he was having quite a bit of trouble making sense of. It'd been so long since he felt anything that he wasn't much of an expert at discerning one emotion from another.

"What's up with you?" Dean asked, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, tone disinterested.

"It's nothing," Crowley replied as evenly as he could. He cleared his throat, looking out the window again. It was night time. They were on a main highway, the side of the road dotted with restaurants, road stops, and large billboards. Cars roared around them, headlights slashing through the heavy downpour of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Right," Dean said dubiously. "I'm sure you don't feel like shit at all right now. Totally fine."

"And just why the hell would it matter to you, Squirrel?" he retorted, temper flaring.

"Let's call it morbid curiosity."

Crowley debated as to whether to tell Dean what he had dreamed, not wanting to reveal his weakness any further, but his mind flashed back to when Dean had come to unchain him at the church. There was no way he could possibly appear more pathetic than _that_.

"My past," he finally answered. "It's starting to come back."

"Back when you were Fergus MacLeod, or whatever?"

"Yes," he answered quietly. Dean looked at him then, frowning. "What? No smart comment?"

"I'm just wondering what you were like before you turned into a dick bag demon," Dean told him truthfully.

"That makes two of us, mate." Eager to change the subject, he asked, "So, what armpit of America are we currently in?"

"Heading towards Sandusky," Dean informed him. "We're picking up Cas."

"Found your fallen angel, did you? How's Feathers holding up?" Crowley was very curious as to the state of the fallen angels. If they had all maintained their Grace, well, he and the rest of the demons were in deep trouble, especially with him in such a weakened state as he was. He didn't want a war, but with thousands of fallen angels running about, there was bound to be trouble.

Dean drummed his fingers worriedly on the wheel. Crowley could read the tension all over the older Winchester's face. "Dunno. We'll find out soon. We're almost there."

As promised, a few minutes later, Dean pulled the Impala off into a parking lot outside of a large rest stop on the side of the interstate. When they parked, Dean looked at Crowley warily, as if wondering what to do with him.

"You can leave me here," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "What, do you think I'm going to axe your moose the minute you look away? You seem to forget my instinct for self-preservation. I'm weak... at present. Pissing off big brother would not be in my best interest at the moment." Dean didn't seem convinced by his reasoning. "Lock me in the trunk if it'll turn you on, I just don't see the need for it."

Dean shook his head. "No way. I'm not letting you out of my sight. Come on." Dean unlocked the doors and got out of the Impala, waiting for Crowley to do the same. Crowley let out a heavy sigh before stepping out of the car, slamming the door and throwing a dirty look towards Dean. Not that he could blame him for the distrust, of course - anyone who had a modicum of intelligence knew not to trust him.

Still. Times like this, it was bloody annoying.

Dean locked the car behind him, throwing a worried glance at Sam, all artful misery and heroic compassion. _Kill me now._  

"He'll be fine," Crowley said, waiting for Dean by the trunk of the car. Dean seemed caught off guard by the reassurance. Crowley himself didn't know why he'd said it. It had just seemed like the proper thing to say.

_Bollocks. When have I ever cared about proper?_

Dean, thankfully, chose not to comment, instead making his way towards the glass front doors of the rest stop. Crowley followed close behind, not wanting the older Winchester to throw a tantrum, thinking that he was going to make a break for it. He wasn't a moron. He needed time to recover from the injections courtesy of Sam. Time to see if he would even regain his powers, and to adjust to the stunningly human qualities that were starting to haunt him.

Would he even be able to rule Hell when all was said and done? He was worried... he could no longer sense his connection to the realm of the damned, which had been a tendril of energy in the back of his consciousness since he'd taken over Hell. It was gone now, and he didn't know whether that was because of his weakened powers or because of the humanity that he was now cursed with.

The bright fluorescent lights inside of the rest stop hit his eyes, and he held up an arm to block it out with a groan. Thanks to the horrible migraine working its way through his head, he was incredibly photosensitive at the moment. Dean paid him no heed, making his way to a line of payphones on the opposite end of the establishment, in between a tacky gift shop with the word 'Ohio' written on every visible surface (what was so bloody brilliant about Ohio, of all places?) and a Starbucks.

That's when he saw his favorite fallen angel. Cas's back was against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, and he was looking positively forlorn. "Cas!" Dean called, picking up his pace until he was stooping in front of his friend. "Cas, are you okay?"

Castiel lifted his head slightly to look at Dean. Crowley was caught off-guard when he saw that there were tears in the angel's eyes.

* * *

Perhaps it was some kind of sick cosmic karma that the time he wanted to teleport away from where he was more than anything in the world, he was unable to do so.

The four hours he spent waiting for Dean were some of the longest of his life. He had sat there on the floor, hugging his knees, avoiding the eyes of the people who threw him strange looks as they passed by.

He tried all of his powers. He tried to use his real voice. At one point, he even attempted to leave his vessel and take on his true form. All of his attempts were fruitless. Part of him knew that his Grace was completely gone, but another part of him kept desperately trying to deny that fact.

He was alone and weak, lost and hopeless.

He felt heat burning in his eyes. He didn't know what it was until he felt a drop of liquid trail down his cheek. He was crying. He didn't bother to wipe away his tears or even try to hide them, though he had his head bent. He sat there, letting the tears fall as his millennia old mind tried to cope with the changes.

That was, until he heard the blissful sound of Dean calling his name.

He looked up just in time to see the hunter stooping down in front of him. He felt Dean's hand land on his shoulder. Castiel stared into the bright green of Dean's eyes, biting the inside of his lip hard in an attempt to gather himself.

"Hello, Dean," he said, his voice sounding even more wrecked than he felt.

"Come on, let's get you out of here," Dean said, helping Castiel to his feet, hand on his shoulder the entire time. With Dean guiding him, they started walking toward the exit.

Then he saw Crowley.

Cas froze, stopping dead in his tracks. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, darling. It's been a dark age," Crowley responded in what Cas recognized as an attempt to pull of his usual swagger. However, with the state the demon king was currently in, it failed miserably. Dark circles hung under weary, bloodshot eyes. He had purplish-blue bruising all over the left side of his face, with a laceration over his right eye. His lip was busted open as well. Red-brown dried blood caked much of his ashen face. His shoulders were slumped and he was dragging in breaths unevenly.

Castiel immediately grew concerned. Not for the King himself, but for what his appearance might indicate. Crowley looked _human_. Sam hadn't gone through with the final trial, had he?

"Did Sam complete the injections?" he asked worriedly, looking back at Dean. Dean shook his head, and Castiel felt a swoop of relief. "Then why does he appear so..."

"It's been a long day," Crowley answered for Dean. "Moose is still breathing and I'm still King. No need to worry your little head about it."

"He's still Crowley," Dean elaborated further. "Sam says that Crowley's 'his responsibility' now, so he's tagging along... like it or not."

He favored _not._

"Delightful! We're one big, happy family. Any chance we can get out of here, now?" Crowley motioned towards the irritably.

Dean sighed, and he put light pressure on Cas's shoulder to encourage him to move forward. Crowley fell into step beside Cas, causing him to tense up significantly. The last time he had run into the King of Hell, Crowley had ended up elbow deep in his innards. It wasn't a pleasant memory, and he was still recovering from the gut shot issued to him by the demon.

"What did the trials do to you?" Castiel asked, turning to examine Crowley. "Do you feel human emotions, now?

"How about we focus on your instability instead of my own?" Crowley asked, arching an indifferent eyebrow at him. "What's with the waterworks?"

Castiel swiped the sleeve of his trench coat across his eyes, somewhat embarrassed. "The loss of my Grace seems to have made me more... emotionally aware," he answered haltingly as they stepped out into the cool night air. He shivered, an unusual feeling for him, since he was previously immune to temperature changes.

"Cas, you had feelings and shit before," Dean said, seeming slightly puzzled as they made their way across the parking lot. Castiel spotted the Impala.

"Yes, but I have never felt everything so... _sharply_. It was more subdued before... but now, now it's like something is constricting my chest... I feel... broken," he explained as best as he could.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and pursed his lips, seeming unsure.

Upon reaching the vehicle, Dean opened the door of the Impala for him. "You're going to have to crowd in with Sammy, he's kind of... he's..." The Winchester swallowed and looked down at his ailing brother, jaw tight. Cas could see that Sam was thoroughly unconscious. Even though Sam didn't complete the trials, he knew that they must have taken a strong toll on him. Castiel slid in by Sam's feet, and Crowley and Dean returned to the front and passenger seats.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel whispered before Dean had a chance to start the engine, suddenly overwhelmed by remorse. Dean looked at him in the rear view mirror, brow furrowed in confusion.

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"I'm sorry for everything I've done since Lucifer was defeated. I'm sorry I can't help Sam. I'm sorry I can't help _you_. I'm sorry that I'm powerless. I'm just... sorry."

Cas closed his eyes, leaning his head against the window.

Dean said nothing.


	3. Like the Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Superman is permanently Clark Kent, and Sam gets a titty-twister.

Fifteen minutes after picking up Castiel, they were pulling into the parking lot of a motel alongside the interstate. Dean shut off the car. Crowley turned in his seat to look at Sam, and found himself wondering whether they would be able to get the giant up or not. Castiel seemed to have similar worries, judging by his expression - not that the bird didn't always look at least vaguely concerned.

Dean got out of the vehicle and went around to the back, opening up the door on the right hand side, near where Sam's head was resting.

Dean stooped down, placing his hand on the side of Sam's head. "Hey, Sammy," he said, shaking him. "Come on, we need you to wake up." When Sam didn't respond, Dean tried to wake him several more times before he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry about this, man." He promptly lifted up Sam's cotton t-shirt and gave him the hardest titty-twister he could manage.

"Didn't know you had a sadistic streak. What a pleasant surprise," Crowley said, stepping out of the car. He smirked as Sam gasped and bolted up in his seat, eyes wild. Dean put his hands on Sam's back, steadying his disoriented brother. Sam blinked rapidly, shaking hand touching his chest as he let out a low whine of pain.

"What the hell-" he breathed out, looking back at Dean in outrage.

"Sorry, man. Extreme measures. It's time to get you in bed."

"Kinky," Crowley commented mildly from behind him. Dean shot him a disgruntled glance, and Sam leaned past his brother to look at him, eyebrows going up to touch his hairline when he saw him standing there.

"Happy to see me?" Crowley gave the moose a tight, bitter smile.

_Your responsibility, eh? Mate, you've no idea what you're signing up for._

Sam's eyes flitted back to Dean.

"Thank you," he said softly to his older brother.

"Oh, isn't that just touching." Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Come on," Dean said. With firm hands, he helped Sam to stand. Castiel got out after Sam was shakily on his feet and leaning heavily on Dean. The angel came to stand behind Sam, just in case he were to fall backwards. Sam really wasn't looking great. He was trembling badly. Crowley thought he very well might bend over and vomit any second. Had the trials left anything intact inside of Gigantor?

Without really stopping to consider it, Crowley moved forward. He motioned for Dean to let him take up his place on Sam's side. "You're the one with the cash. Grab your bags and lead on, Sparkles and I can handle him." Before Dean could argue, Crowley held up a hand. "Can we please skip the witty banter, just this once? I'm tired."

Dean still looked like he wanted to protest, but with a reluctant sigh, he relinquished his sibling to Crowley.

"You try _anything_ -"

"Yes, yes, you'll rip me a veritable menagerie of new orifices. Can we get on with this?"

In spite of the not unimpressive height difference between himself and Sam and his current weakened state, Crowley was still a demon, and therefore had increased strength. One hand under his arm and the other on his chest, he plodded forward with Sam, with Castiel ducking under Sam's other arm to support his left side.

They made their way inside of the hotel, receiving very odd looks from the other patrons in the reception area. Crowley wasn't surprised. They were what appeared to be four grown men, three of whom looked like they were somewhere ranging between 'ragged' and 'on death's door', led by Dean, the intrepid Kalvin Klein model.

Dean paid for the biggest single room they could get, two queens and a cot included. It was thankfully on the first floor, so it didn't require a long trek to the room with Crowley and Castiel supporting Sam in a horrible parody of a three-legged race. Sam was completely silent except for the ragged breaths he drew in. His whole body was fever-hot, almost unbearably so - and coming from the King of Hell, that was saying a lot.

"Doing alright there, Moose?" Crowley asked as Dean fumbled with the key to their room, continually glancing back anxiously at his brother.

"F-fine," Sam said in a voice that completely contradicted his statement.

"Sam, you do not seem fine," Castiel pointed out, looking up at Sam with stark worry in his expressive blue eyes.

"I just need to rest," Sam assured him, trying to force more strength into his words. Crowley saw straight through it, and he suspected that even the ever-oblivious angel did as well.

Dean opened up the door to the hotel room and allowed the three of them to walk in first. Once inside, Crowley and Castiel carefully laid Sam down on the bed that was closest to the door. When Sam's body sank into the mattress, he immediately let out a deep sigh of relief, lying spread-eagle on the bed.

"That feel better, Sam?" Dean asked, putting a hand on Sam's back. Sam nodded slowly.

"Yeah... I just... I _really_ need to sleep," Sam said breathlessly.

"Okay. We'll stay quiet so you can rest," he told his little brother. Sam's eyes were already closed, and Crowley guessed that he was asleep before Dean had even finished his sentence. Dean turned to Castiel. "Do you need sleep?"

"I... think so. I feel very worn down. Sleep would remedy that, yes?" he asked tentatively. Dean nodded.

"Yeah. It'll make you feel a lot better. Take whichever bed you want and catch some shut-eye," Dean said.

However, before Cas could move, Crowley reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve of his trench coat, restraining him. Dean immediately went on the offensive, stepping forward, hand reflex-twitching for his gun. Cas, however, just looked afraid, like a small child. That bothered Crowley for reasons he couldn't pinpoint.

_It bothers you because you know exactly why he's afraid,_ a voice said in the back of his mind. _He remembers the last time the two of you crossed paths just as well as you do._

"I don't know if you've smelled yourself lately, Kitten, but I'd recommend a shower first," Crowley said. He knew from the time they had spent together trying to open Purgatory that Castiel, typically, had no scent. He just _didn't_ smell. However, with the loss of his Grace, apparently he was just as sweaty as any other adult male. Castiel's musk was not something terribly appetizing, at the moment.

Dean and Castiel both looked confused by his observation. Dean, awkwardly, leaned towards Castiel and sniffed him, before reeling back with a shudder. "Ugh, dude, he's right - you smell like ass."

Castiel frowned. "I don't know what ass smells like, Dean."

"That's a good thing," Dean assured him.

"Do you even know how to take a shower? I can show you, if you like. I'm sure it'd be _very_ informative." Crowley allowed a lecherous smile to slowly spread on his face. Cas seemed appropriately disconcerted.

Dean threw Crowley a look that showed his displeasure at the comment. He motioned towards the bathroom. "It's not hard. He can figure it out." His eyes turned to Cas. "I'll go start the shower for you."

"He's going to need clothes," Crowley pointed out.

"He can wear some of mine," Dean called as he ducked into the bathroom.

Crowley leaned against the wall as he heard the water turn on. Castiel shuffled uncomfortably, arms hanging loosely at his sides, eyes lowered and his damp trench coat looking far too big for him. He looked like a very sad puppy. 

Crowley was hit with another sickening pang of traitorous compassion, and before he knew it, he said, "I'm sorry."

Sweet Hell, was that _sincerity_ in his voice?

Castiel lifted his head, baby blues narrowing at him in subdued surprise. The ex-angel was silent for a moment before he responded with a simple, "Why?"

He felt the itching, infuriating need to apologize for a lot of things, but he settled for, "I'm sorry that you're... Graceless."

Another moment of silence. "I see that the trial is having a strong effect on you."

Crowley glared at the angel. "I'm right as rain, love. Not a piece out of place."

A lie - he didn't even know where most of his pieces were, presently.

"Cas!" Dean called from the bathroom, interrupting their uncomfortable conversation. "Shower's ready for you." Dean poked his head around the corner. He let Cas into the bathroom. Dean gave him a reassuring smile that looked more like a grimace, then closed the door behind the former angel.

Crowley's eyes met Dean's when the door clicked shut.

"Going to teach him how to tie his shoes, next?"

"Not that you'd get the concept, but Cas is my friend," Dean answered stiffly. "Just 'cause he's gone from Superman to Clark Kent... that doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't it, though? Just how much is your Angel Boy Wonder worth to you without his cape, hmm?"

"Go to hell." Dean made for his duffel bag, no doubt to hunt for clothes that would fit Cas.

"If only."

Crowley stripped off his overcoat and suit coat, dropping them beside the single bed. He stretched languidly. Exhaustion hung heavy in his limbs.

"You're sleeping?" Dean asked.

Crowley looked over his shoulder at the hunter. "Even beasts need their beauty sleep, Squirrel."

"How do I know you're not gonna slit all our throats the second the lights go out?"

"You don't," Crowley replied, not missing a beat. "That's what makes it fun."

He laid down carefully, his bruised, beaten body protesting sharply at the movement. He let his head land on the pillow, a quiet sigh escaping him. It was rare that he slept - demons didn't require it, but that wasn't to say that it didn't benefit them on occasion. After the day he'd had, he certainly could use a good night's rest.

Without further ado, he laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. A few moments later, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Castiel stared down at his vessel's boxers.

He realized with a jolt that he would have to start changing clothes on a daily basis, like humans did. His trench coat, white dress shirt, blue tie, and trousers were all resting on the sink now. He supposed he would have to start showering frequently as well, since he could no longer just think himself and his clothing clean. That would be strange.

He took off his boxers as well, letting them fall to the floor before he stepped into the pleasantly hot water that Dean had started for him. He felt guilty for the position that the older Winchester was currently in. He was powerless, Sam was ailing, Crowley was... well, Crowley was present, and that was reason enough to be concerned. Dean was left to watch out for all of them, in one way or another.

He still questioned Sam's request of bringing Crowley with them. It seemed unwise, to say the least. Crowley was one of the strongest demons on the planet. His power may have been dramatically reduced, and there was the possibility that he now possessed what seemed to be a modicum of humanity, but he was still Crowley, and Crowley was _dangerous_.

Crowley was a very talented actor. He was unsure of just how genuine any humanity Crowley showed really was.

Showering, as Dean had said, wasn't terribly complicated. There was complimentary shampoo in the shower labeled whether it was for body or for hair, and they included instructions on the back. He scrubbed his body meticulously, especially the underneath of his arms, which he identified as the source of the smell Crowley had mentioned. When he finished with his body, he moved onto his hair, getting it thoroughly soapy before washing it out. He didn't like the feeling of his hair being plastered against his forehead very much.

He stepped out of the shower and into the steamy bathroom. He saw that sometime during his shower, Dean had left out clothing for him, along with a folded towel, and had scooped up the clothes that he had left behind. He dried himself off before pulling on the pair of boxers and gray sweatpants that Dean had left him.

Before he put on the white t-shirt he'd been left, he needed to check something. He smeared a hand over the mirror above the sink, clearing up the condensation that had built up there. Once his face and bare torso became visible, he gulped, twisting so he could see his back.

Adjacent to his shoulder blades were two, irritated red, inch wide, six inch long scars.

He reached behind himself and touched one of them with a wince. He had already been able to feel that they were gone when Metatron had sent him back to Earth, and they had ached badly since, but seeing the proof in front of him that his wings were completely gone was devastating. He turned back around, hands gripping either side of the sink, trying to control the crushing sorrow and loss building in his chest.

_Father,_ Castiel prayed silently to the God that had likely stopped caring long ago. _Please... help me... I can't do this..._

"Cas?" Dean's voice spoke from behind the bathroom door, following a quick knock. "You alright, man? You've been in there awhile."

Castiel didn't respond. He didn't trust himself to speak. He felt tears building in his eyes again. _Is this the sum of who I am? Am I truly this weak?_

"Screw it. I'm coming in. You better be dressed, or I swear to God-" Dean opened up the door, but he didn't complete his sentence when he saw the position that he was in. "Oh."

Dean was staring at his back, at the same two lines his own eyes had been fixed on.

"Your wings..."

"Yes," Cas croaked. "They're gone... and I..." He shook his head, voice failing him.

Dean took a few hesitant steps forward, until he came into Castiel's view in the mirror. Castiel looked at the reflection of his friend as a tear escaped from his eye. His cheeks flushed; Dean shouldn't have to see him like this. 

"I don't know what to say," Dean told him honestly. "I'm no good at this kind of stuff."

"I know," Castiel said, drawing himself up to his full height. He straightened his shoulders and released his grip on the sink, trying to compose himself. He couldn't let these new, vivid emotions get the best of him. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done."

"Hey, it's okay to... you know, let it out," Dean said, frowning slightly. He clapped him on the shoulder somewhat awkwardly. "I'm... I'm here for you, man."

"I know," he repeated. "I think I'd like to go to bed now."

Dean nodded before picking up the white t-shirt from where he left it. "I guess you don't know whether you prefer to sleep shirtless or not, huh?"

"These pants are very comfortable. Is the shirt made of similar material?"

"Hell if I know. It's soft."

Castiel took the t-shirt from Dean and tugged it down over his head. It was a bit loose on him, with Dean being just slightly bigger than he was, but it still fit well enough.

"Thank you," he said, looking meaningfully at Dean. Dean shrugged and gave him a half-smile.

"No problem. Now come on, it's bed time for you. You look like you're gonna fall over," he said, turning and heading out of the bathroom. Castiel followed close behind him, fiddling with the edge of the soft fabric of the t-shirt. He understood why Dean wore these all of the time, now.

When he entered the main part of the hotel room, he saw that Crowley was sleeping on the single bed, a sight that he found incredibly odd, having never seen a demon sleep before, let alone the King himself. Like angels, demons didn't require sleep to function, though he knew that they sometimes chose to do so, generally to better disguise themselves as humans. The demon was snoring along, hands behind his head, chest rising and falling slowly.

He wasn't the only supernatural entity dealing with extreme changes.

Castiel walked over to the remaining queen, lying down carefully. Dean looked at him with a hint of amusement from the nearby sofa where he was apparently planning to sleep. "Just close your eyes. Simple as pie." Dean paused, putting a hand on his stomach. "Man, I could go for some pie..."

"I have slept before, Dean."

"Yeah, but that was... what? Five years ago?" Dean said, referring to when he'd briefly been almost-human shortly before Lucifer's imprisonment in the Cage. Castiel closed his eyes, folding his hands over his chest. "You should probably get under the sheets," he heard Dean's voice suggest. "You'll be warmer."

He opened his eyes and lifted up the comforter and thin sheets beneath, sliding underneath them with a slight sigh. Dean was right, it was warmer. "This is... comfortable."

"Yeah."

He closed his eyes again, an overwhelming wave of fatigue hitting him. "Goodnight, Dean," he said quietly, so quietly that he wasn't even sure that the older Winchester heard him until he responded.

"Goodnight, Cas... sweet dreams."


	4. Came Back Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a connection is discovered and pancakes are consumed.

Sam woke up with a thick sheen of sweat sticking to every inch of him. He had been awakened by a searing pain in his forearms. It was like fire was pouring through his veins, scorching everything in its path. His eyes snapped open, and he saw a pale orange glow dancing on the ceiling, flickering and ethereal.

After a moment, Sam realized that the light was coming from him.

He looked down at his arms, and they were suffused with the same light that had surged through them during the trials. The pain ripped at his muscles, sending him flat on his back with a gasp.

_Just wait it out, just wait it out,_ he ordered himself.

It couldn't go on forever, right? He just needed to make it through. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing as even as he could.

It felt like white-hot knives were slicing up his arms and torso. He stuck his fist in his mouth, biting down so hard that he drew blood. He didn't want to wake up the others, especially Dean. His older brother had enough on his mind without having to worry about Sam getting sicker than he already was.

"Bollocks!" he heard the curse from the single bed on his right side.

_Is that Crowley?_

Sam opened his eyes and turned his head. With the aid of the dim moonlight streaming through the window, he saw that the demon beside him was in a state of distress. His hands were gripping his hair tightly. His eyes were pinched shut and his teeth were gritted. There was a growling coming from deep in his throat that made him sound like a wounded animal.

"C-Crowley?" Sam ground out, trying to keep his voice from escalating into a scream as the pain increased. At the same time that Sam whimpered in agony, Crowley's back arched on the bed, and the growl grew louder.

The next wave hit him. Sam was swept away by the searing torment of the trials, and his concern for Crowley was thrown completely out the window, along with any other rational thought. For what was probably minutes but felt more like years, he struggled his way through the pain, his forearms producing that pale orange light the entire time, until finally, the glow subsided and the pain soon followed.

Soaked with sweat and dragging in shaking, ragged breaths, Sam collapsed against the bed, relief seeping through him.

From Crowley's bed, he heard a similar sigh of relief. There were a few minutes of silence before either of them spoke.

"What the hell did you do to me?" Crowley eventually asked, voice seething with anger. Sam lifted his head to look at the King. Crowley sat on the edge of his bed, glaring daggers at him as he massaged his arms with an occasional wince.

"I... what?" Sam blinked, trying to clear the haze of confusion from his mind. "I've never had an attack like that before, not during the entire time I was doing the trials... did you... did you feel it, too?"

"Yes, I bloody well felt it!" Crowley exclaimed in a whisper scream, evidently trying not to wake Dean or Castiel. "Apparently when you tried to _cure_ me, you also managed to dose me with the crap that the trials are pushing through your veins."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, honestly meaning it. He wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy, and for the first time in a year, that wasn't Crowley. "Do you feel okay now?"

"Yes," Crowley answered shortly. "We're going to have to find a way to fix you. I don't want to have to put up with that."

"Fix me?" Sam asked. "I don't know if I can be fixed. I might just be doomed to this."

"Not if I have any say in it," Crowley argued. "I'm the King of Hell, darling. I've got what you call _resources_. Once Brother Bear and the angel are up, it's high time we go about finding something that will put you back in the field and keep you out of the grave."

"The trials won't kill me," Sam said, half trying to convince Crowley, half trying to convince himself. "I didn't follow through with curing you. They only kill you if you complete all three trials."

"You hope."

"Thanks for that," Sam mumbled, letting his head fall back into the pillow. He could feel the fatigue of the attack hitting him, and he could see a similar feeling washing over Crowley. The demon king stretched out languidly on the bed once again.

"Anytime, Moose," he said, closing his eyes. "Now, if I wake up to that again, I'll kill you myself. Bubble dreams."

* * *

Castiel smelled food.

Food sounded particularly appealing, at the moment.

He cracked open one eye. He saw Dean entering the hotel room, arms full of brown paper bags. Dean deposited the bags on the sofa before collapsing down and removing a muffin from one of them, apparently unaware of the fact that he was awake.

"Good morning," Castiel said, sitting up. Dean jumped at the sound of his voice. The hunter let out an exasperated sigh.

"Morning," Dean said. "You scared the crap out of me."

"I'm sorry. That was not my intention," he apologized as he peeled back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed at his eye with one of his hands, letting out a loud yawn. Sleeping had been relaxing and restful. He decided that he and the other angels had been missing out.

Dean was smiling slightly at him as he continued to eat his breakfast. Castiel tilted his head. "Do you find something amusing?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, it's just... when you did that, it reminded me of Sammy when he was little." He nudged one of the bags with his hand. "Hungry?"

"Yes, actually," Castiel told him as he stood up and stretched. "It's a... very odd feeling."

"Well, what do you want for your first meal as a full-blown human?" Dean asked, going through the bag as he finished off his muffin. "Sorry it's not White Castle, but that's not really something you want first thing in the morning, trust me. I got pretty much everything... eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes..."

"Pancakes," Castiel said with a nod. "When I was on the run with the angel tablet, I flew between different Biggerson's to hide my trail from the intelligence division. I often ordered pancakes. I never ate them, of course, but they did smell pleasant."

"Pancakes it is." Dean removed a Styrofoam container from the bag and offered it to Castiel, along with a plastic knife and fork. He accepted it with a murmured 'thank you' before seating himself on the sofa next to Dean. He opened the container, inhaling the scent of the syrup coated pancakes with a content sigh. Dean smirked at him as he went back into one of the bags for some toast.

Castiel tested the pancakes, and the flavor was sweet and the texture fluffy. Hmm. He could see why Dean seemed to enjoy eating so much. He lifted his eyes as he continued to eat his meal, chewing slowly. His gaze landed on Sam and Crowley, who were still sleeping.

"What time is it?" Castiel asked.

Dean checked the time on his phone. "Ten. I don't know whether we should wake them up or not." He then seemed to reconsider. "Actually, I don't give a shit about waking Crowley up." He took another muffin from the bag and tossed it at Crowley's head. Dean's aim was true, and it hit the King of Hell square in the face, disintegrating into crumbs. Crowley bolted up.

"What the-" he sputtered as he looked at the muffin fragments now dotting his black silk button-down. He looked up at Dean, who gave him a little two fingered salute.

"Top o' the morning, Crowley," he greeted with a sarcastic smirk. "How's tricks?"

"Eat me, Squirrel," he replied, brushing off his shirt. He rose to his feet, scooping up his suit jacket and tugging it over his arms.

"If you need food, it's here," Dean said gruffly. Crowley eyed the bags.

"Uh, hello. Demon. The fact that I slept through the night was a fluke - I'm not going native."

"Whatever," Dean responded with a shrug. Crowley departed for the bathroom without another word, slamming the door shut behind him. Castiel found that confusing, since demons didn't need to use the bathroom.

"Guess he's not a morning person, huh?" Dean glared at the door, as if he was trying to burn holes through it with his eyes.

"I suppose not," Castiel said. "Dean, there's something that you need to be made aware of."

Dean turned to look at him, lips immediately tugging into a worried frown. "Yeah?"

"From what Metatron told me, all of the angels have been locked out of Heaven."

He took another bite of his pancake. What he was about to tell Dean had been troubling him since the night before, but his preoccupation with the loss of his powers had distracted him from giving it further thought. However, today, in a new light, the problem definitely needed to be addressed.

"Not all of the angels in Heaven were good," Castiel continued.

"I know, Cas. I met Naomi... and Uriel... and Zachariah... and Raphael... and-"

"You misunderstand me. There was an angel imprisoned in Heaven, much like Lucifer and Michael are imprisoned in the Cage. He had great power, and he was _evil_ , Dean. Perhaps even more corrupt than Lucifer himself." Castiel swallowed, pursing his lips briefly before continuing. "His name is Xaphan. When Lucifer first fell, Xaphan guided him in his descent into darkness. It was his prompting that gave Lucifer the idea to create Lilith. He and Lucifer, together, attempted to burn down Heaven in a storm of holy fire. They almost succeeded. Lucifer managed to escape before he could experience the retribution of our Father, but Xaphan was not so lucky. He was taken to the angel prison and held there. He has been in his own personal Cage ever since."

"And if all the other angels got booted out of Heaven, that means that this Xaphan guy did too, right?" Dean asked, brow creasing as he realized the implications of the information. Castiel nodded gravely.

"Yes. Xaphan is on Earth," Castiel assured him.

"That's... really friggin' bad, Cas. How powerful are we talking here, on a scale of one to archangel?"

"Xaphan is ancient and lacks any sort of morals or compassion. Because of that, it makes him dangerous. He's a Seraph, like myself-" he broke off as he remembered that he wasn't a Seraph anymore. Gulping slightly, he pressed on, "-but he's more powerful than I was, though I assume that he could be killed by any angel blade or the angel gun that Crowley made. I trust you took that from him after you captured him?"

"Yep." Dean patted the side of his coat. "Got his angel blade, too."

"Good." Castiel didn't particularly like the idea of challenging Xaphan in battle, but he had a feeling that it would eventually have to be done. Xaphan posed an enormous threat to mankind, especially if he gained support from either the demons or some of the other fallen angels.

"So, looks like we're going to have to go on an angel hunt once we ditch Crowley and Sam's feeling better," Dean said with a heavy sigh. "Great. Nothing like having to go after Lucifer Junior to brighten your day."

"I don't think that Sam will like the idea of us 'ditching' Crowley," Castiel said, lowering his voice so Crowley hopefully wouldn't be able to hear him from the bathroom. "It seems that he feels a certain connection to him, now, after the third trial."

"He better not," Dean growled, seeming thoroughly displeased. "As soon as Sam gets over this- this weird, 'let's be buddies with Crowley' phase, we're kicking his ass back to Hell. I don't get why Sam suddenly cares about him so much. I mean, if Abaddon wasn't floating around still, I'd just knife the little bastard. The only reason I'm not is because he's probably the only thing standing between that crazy ginger bitch and the throne. He's the lesser of two evils... for now. But as soon as I've got an excuse, I'm gonna stick Ruby's knife right up his-"

"We're not killing him, Dean."

Dean flinched, eyes darting away from Castiel's face to focus on his brother, who was now pushing himself into a sitting position. Castiel hadn't even noticed that Sam was awake.

"I made him like this," Sam said. "I need to... I don't know. Watch out for him, I guess? He's not the enemy anymore, now that we're not trying to shut the Gates of Hell." Sam shook his head. "I can't explain it. I just... I feel like we need to keep him close. I know it doesn't make any sense."

"You've wanted to ice Lucky the Leprechaun since we lost the Colt," Dean said, frustration evident in his voice. "You can't tell me that eight hours with the guy suddenly changed everything. You hate him! He killed Sarah less than a week ago, man!"

Castiel looked closely at Sam. The younger Winchester didn't seem much better than he had the day before. He was still looking quite ragged, with near-black circles under his eyes and his long brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

"I know that," Sam said, expression darkening at the mention of Sarah. "But whatever is running through his veins now, a part of that's me. A part of him is human."

"That part ain't ever gonna be big enough, I can tell you that right now." 

Sam sighed. "I don't know if you've noticed this lately, but the three of us? We have a _lot_ of enemies. It really wouldn't hurt for us to have a powerful ally, and the King of Hell definitely qualifies."

"He'll stab us in the back the first chance he gets," Dean protested, and Castiel had to agree. Crowley was always looking out for Crowley. As soon as he got the opportunity, he would do his best to take Dean and Sam off of the board permanently. Castiel was sure of that.

"I don't think so," Sam said, rubbing a hand behind his neck with a wince. "He doesn't have anything to gain by killing us, not anymore."

"Like that'll stop him."

"Dean is right, Sam," Castiel told the younger Winchester. "Crowley is not to be trusted."

Dean snorted at that.

Castiel frowned, knowing that the hunter was restraining himself from pointing out the irony of Castiel advising Sam not to put his faith in the demon king.

"I'm not saying that we trust him, I'm saying that we should give him a chance. If he turns on us, we'll kill him, okay? It'll be a hell of a lot easier now than it was before," Sam reasoned.

Castiel finished off his pancakes and set the container to the side, clasping his hands together in his lap, looking at Dean to try to glean what the hunter was thinking. His eyes were troubled and distant. He was thinking, and he was torn. Most likely between his desire to keep Sam happy and his desire to end Crowley.

"If you're done planning my demise?" Sam, Dean, and Castiel's heads all simultaneously turned. Crowley was suddenly leaning against the wall, occupying a space that had been empty a few seconds ago. The bruises and lacerations on his face had been healed, his suit once more pristine, and he seemed to be standing a little straighter.

"Demons. Ears like cats," the King said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.

Dean leveled a frosty glare at the demon, but said nothing.

"You're healed," Sam observed. "Are your powers coming back?"

"Enough that I could get myself back in order," Crowley replied. "Trust me, as soon as I'm able, I'll be back to Hell and away from you idiots."

"You still haven't recovered your ability to teleport?" Cas asked, eyeing the demon warily. A second later, Crowley was directly in front of him, smirking slightly.

"Oh, short distances, sure, but Hell isn't exactly right next door, now is it?" he asked, chucking him on the bottom of the chin.

Castiel jerked back with a frown.

"Don't touch him," Dean warned, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Sorry. Didn't see the 'Property of Dean Winchester' tramp stamp. My mistake," Crowley snarked out in response.

Dean and Crowley had an impressive stare-off, looking seconds away from launching at one another.

Sam cleared his throat, breaking the thick tension that had built up in the room.

"So, what's our next step?" Sam asked.

"We need to get back to the bunker," Dean said. "Figure out what's going on out in the world, what the angels are doing." Dean's eyes never left Crowley's. "What the _demons_ are gonna do." Finally, Dean switched his attention to Sam. "Oh, and apparently there's some kind of evil Lucifer loyalist angel running around, according to Cas."

"Ho-ho." Crowley arched both of his eyebrows. "Don't tell me. Big Man Upstairs was hiding _Xaphan_ in Heaven? That's not good. He's not exactly the kind of bloke you want to run into in a dark alley."

"He's not an archangel, is he?" Sam asked, nervously gripping at the edge of his comforter. Castiel shook his head.

"No, he's a Seraph. He's very powerful, but he should be able to be killed just like any other angel."

"Question is, will Xaphan try to align with my kind, or take over a band of rogue angels?" Crowley asked. "This _will_ be interesting..."

Dean rolled his eyes before grabbing the bag that contained their breakfast and taking it to Sam. "Come on, eat something. Once you're done we'll hit the road."

Crowley followed Dean, brushing past the older Winchester to put a hand on Sam's forehead. Dean did not seem to like the idea of Crowley touching his brother, and grabbed Crowley's arm.

Castiel stood, sensing the conflict that was about to erupt. Putting Dean Winchester and the King of Hell in the same vicinity was, perhaps, not the best idea.

"Moose," Crowley said, looking Dean dead in the eye, unflinching under the hunter's steely gaze. "Call off your dog, would you?"

"Dean, leave him be," Sam said tiredly, grabbing the bag and rooting through it until he found a container of scrambled eggs and sausage. "He's just trying to see if I'm running a fever."

"Why should he care?" Dean said, reluctantly releasing the demon's arm. Crowley proceeded to feel Sam's forehead with the back of his hand. Castiel noticed that Sam and Crowley shared a meaningful look.

"He's burning up. And who knows? Maybe I've developed a soft spot for Jolly Green." Crowley withdrew his hand. Castiel felt as though something was being left unsaid. "Once you get back to your little hidey-hole, fixing him goes on the to-do list," Crowley said, pointing at Sam.

"You think I don't know that?" Dean snapped. He watched Sam worriedly. The younger Winchester seemed to be wondering whether he would be able to keep down his breakfast or not.

"I just go through my life assuming that you don't know anything at all."

Castiel watched as Crowley and Dean continued to bicker, but he couldn't help but be preoccupied by whatever was transpiring between Crowley and Sam. Sam had always hated the demon even more than Dean. To see them interacting on almost friendly terms was very unsettling to him. Could Sam and Crowley be hiding something from Dean?

He could only hope that Sam didn't make the same mistake that he had...


	5. Ordinary World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go from bad to worse, and Dean and Cas are twinsies.

"Everybody ready?" Dean asked the room at large.

Sam was on his feet, albeit shakily, with his duffel bag over his shoulder. Dean noticed that Crowley was standing unusually close to him, as if prepared to catch Sam if he were to fall.

Cas was standing beside Dean, dressed in his clothes. He'd had to tie the laces of Cas's boots for him. Admittedly, it was kind of weird looking at Cas and seeing him dressed _exactly_ like him. Black t-shirt. Dark green jacket. Flannel shirt. Stonewashed blue jeans. Old hunting boots. _Hell, he's like a mini-me._

Nods from around the room. Dean smiled brightly. "Great... one sec..." He reached into his bag, fumbling around. "Here we go." He pulled out a black cloth sack. "Just what I was looking for." He lunged forward quickly, kicking Crowley hard in the shin to catch him off guard before pulling the sack over his head and cinching it around his neck. Crowley shoved him away hard, swearing loudly.

"What the hell are you playing at?" he exclaimed, hands reaching for the sack.

"Ah-ah-ah," Dean said, grabbing Crowley's arm and fitting one of the devil-trapped handcuffs around his right wrist. He quickly wrestled the other cuff onto Crowley's left wrist.

"Bastard!"

"There's no way I'm letting you see the way to our home base. You were weak enough last night that we didn't need the extra protection, but just an unfriendly reminder - _I don't trust you_."

"Why would I give a single flying damn about where you two live when you're not in that blasted car? It's not as if it's hard to track you down, what with the trail of destruction, dead bodies, and empty PBR cans you leave behind!"

Dean was surprised when Crowley fell silent after that, fuming underneath the sack. He could practically feel the rage radiating off of the demon king. Good. It was about time that Crowley took a hint and shut the hell up.

"Dean," Cas pointed out from beside him. "I think that the clerk will be suspicious of us escorting Crowley out like this."

"Well, shit. I didn't think of that," Dean admitted. Sam let out a heavy sigh.

"I'll distract the clerk. You get him to the car," Sam told him. He didn't seem too pleased that Crowley was getting pushed back to prisoner status, but thankfully he seemed to realize that it was necessary.

"What are you going to do? Strip tease?" Crowley asked, his voice muffled by the bag.

"Five minutes?" Dean asked, disregarding Crowley. Sam nodded. "Go."

He watched Sam carefully make his way forward, as if he was afraid that he would fall. It seemed like even walking was becoming too much effort for Sam. Dean wanted to go with Sam to make sure that nothing happened to him in his less-than-stellar state, but there was no way in hell he was leaving a human Cas alone with _Crowley_ of all people, even if Crowley wasn't as strong as usual.

Five minutes later, Dean and Cas departed the hotel room, each of them gripping one of Crowley's arms to make sure he didn't try to make an escape attempt. When they reached the lobby, there indeed was no clerk. The check-in desk sat empty. Go Sam.

They rushed through the front doors, making a beeline for the Impala. Before long, Crowley was in the backseat along with Cas, who was pressed up against the door in an attempt to be as far away from the demon as humanly possible.

Dean slid into the driver's seat. They only had to wait about two minutes for Sam to materialize next to the vehicle. His brother opened the door and sank down into the passenger seat. Aside from his breathing being slightly labored, Sam seemed alright.

"Nice job. What'd you do, anyway?" Dean asked.

"I told the clerk that I'd found a cockroach by the vending machines. I made sure to say it _loudly_ ," Sam told him. "Lobby cleared out pretty quick and she ran off to go find the thing and kill it."

Dean gave his brother a small smile before pulling out of the hotel parking lot and onto the road.

_Time to go home._

The ten hour journey back to Kansas was relatively uneventful. Once Dean finished explaining all that had transpired with Cas and Metatron to Sam, he put on the radio in an attempt to temper the silence in the car and to find out what was happening in the world, what kind of effect the angels were having.

So far, all he'd managed to glean was 'odd weather patterns'. Lightning storms, flash floods, and of course the spontaneous meteor shower that had happened the night before, which had astronomers all over the country perplexed.

Meteors. Right.

During the ride, Sam slipped in and out of sleep, Crowley remained surly and silent, and Cas looked out the window, seeming incredibly distracted. He couldn't blame the guy. He was dealing with a lot at the moment.

Shortly after they crossed the border into Kansas, around eighty thirty, there was a breaking news alert that surprised all four of them: Mount St. Helens had erupted. Sam's eyes widened, and upon checking Cas's reflection in the rearview mirror, Dean saw that the angel looked equally distressed.

"We're not anywhere near there, I hope?" Crowley drawled, his anger having simmered out and dissolved into boredom over the course of the day.

"No, but that's... shit, that's bad," Dean said, turning off the radio. He knew that he should find out more, but his stomach was doing unpleasant flips and he did not want to think of all the people that had been killed just in the past twenty four hours. What the hell were the angels doing? Or was the Xaphan dude that Cas mentioned responsible?

"This can't be the other angels," Cas said, echoing Dean's thoughts. "My brothers and sisters aren't saints, by any means, but they wouldn't cause this much wanton destruction on purpose. This must be Xaphan."

"He's got enough juice to make Mount St. Helen's erupt? Cas, you said he was a Seraph! Even on your worst days you couldn't pull something that big off."

"It's the only explanation there is, Dean. I don't have any idea how he managed to wield that kind of energy unless he was allied with someone incredibly powerful," Cas replied tersely.

"Well, considering you've got one of the most powerful supernatural entities in Creation locked up in the back of your car," Crowley said pointedly. "I'd say you boys ought to be looking for something pretty nasty."

"We need to get a better understanding of the situation," Cas said. "We have to find out what the fallen angels are doing."

"You're right. We've got a lot do once we're home. A hell of a lot," Dean responded. They had to gather all of the facts of what was happening, try to find a way to heal Sam, deal with Crowley, and help Cas adjust to being human. It wasn't a short to-do list.

"I wish the reactions of my brothers and sisters were more predictable, but the angels have never faced anything like this before..." Cas said, eyes still fixed on the passing scenery.

"Well, I can guarantee you one reaction from the fluffy-winged bastards: they'll be after you, darling," Crowley said, and unfortunately, Dean had to agree with him. As far as the other angels knew, Castiel had helped Metatron kick them out of their house.

Which meant Cas was public enemy number one... again.

"I'm aware of that. My siblings do not forget easily. After my..." Cas swallowed with effort. "After my massacre of Raphael's followers, I have not been a favorite in Heaven. Now that they think I've locked them out of Paradise, they will try to hunt me down."

"But why haven't they, already?" Dean asked. "It wouldn't be that hard to find us, even with the Enochian crap on our ribs and the hex bags in the Impala."

"We still don't know how weakened the angels are," Castiel said. "That could account for the fact that they haven't found us yet."

Dean could only hope that the angels weren't half as powerful as they were prior to the Fall, or Cas's expiration date (and theirs as well, by association) was probably sometime before the end of next week.

"I guess we just gotta cross our fingers and hope they don't come after us, because right now, I'm the only one of us who can fight," he said gruffly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He had a mental image of himself, surrounded by angels armed to the teeth. Yeah, he'd barely stand a chance against one angel, let alone a whole flock of them. As Cas had so deftly pointed out all those years ago, he was just a man.

After that, a solemn silence fell on the four of them. Not surprising, considering the stream of bad news on the radio. His Metallica and Megadeth were being continuously interrupted by tornado warnings and reports on forest fires a little farther to the west. Things were going from bad to really _, really_ bad.

Roughly an hour later, they arrived at the Men of Letters bunker. Dean felt relief seep through his chest. He'd never had that feeling before, that feeling of being _home_ , even when he'd lived with Lisa and Ben. Not since he was four years old, anyway.

"Hey, Sammy, come on. We're home." He shook him gently to wake him up. Sam's eyelids fluttered open with a groan.

"We're here already?" Sam asked, shifting in his seat so he could look out of the window. "I feel like I just fell asleep."

"Well, if you're still tired, you can sleep in your own bed once we get inside." Dean opened his door and stepped out of the Impala. Sam did the same on his side, although his movements were labored. A stab of worry shot through his chest. He tried and failed to ignore it.

Cas stepped out of the Impala, looking around. The last time Cas had been here was when he had been recovering from Crowley's removal of the angel tablet from his body, when Dean hadn't been speaking to him. He regretted his treatment of Cas now that some time had passed and his resentment had the chance to drain a little. Cas had screwed them over a lot in the past couple of years, there was no arguing with that, but with how lost and scared he appeared now, it was hard not to forgive him, no matter how much he wanted to hold onto his anger.

"How are we going to get Crowley inside?" Cas asked, looking back at the demon king.

"Taking this damn bag off of my head would be a nice start."

Dean pretended like he hadn't heard him. Castiel frowned.

"I just have to say a few phrases in Latin, and he'll be allowed to pass by the demon protection sigils," Sam explained tiredly, opening up the door next to Crowley and loosening the draw string of the bag around Crowley's head. He removed it with a tug, and Crowley let out a sigh of relief, blinking to adjust his eyes to the moonlight.

"About bloody time," he said, before lifting up his hands and nodding down at the cuffs around his wrists. "How about these, then?"

"Hell no," Dean said. There was no way he was going to let Crowley out of those cuffs until they had him sitting in a devil's trap in the dungeon. "You're lucky Sam took the bag off."

"Lucky!? Sorry, but where exactly in all of this sodding mess am I _lucky_?"

"Enough," Sam said wearily. "You two head inside, I'll deal with him."

Dean pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow at his brother. He didn't think leaving Sam alone with Crowley was a good plan.

Sam rolled his eyes, tapping the hilt of Ruby's knife where it was sheathed on his side. "I'll be fine, Dean."

Dean still wasn't a huge fan of the idea, but while he was cuffed, Crowley was bordering on powerless. Dean began walking towards the entrance, glancing back to make sure that Cas was following close behind. Meanwhile, he saw that Sam had his hand on Crowley's forehead, muttering something in Latin while Crowley continued to look disgruntled.

Dean and Cas entered the bunker. Dean was surprised to see that at the wide table in the crow's nest sat Kevin and Garth, both looking rather the worse for wear. He could only assume that Garth had dropped by to check on Kevin, and the kid had let Garth in.

"It's about time you got here," Kevin breathed, evidently relieved to see him.

The prophet looked about as rundown as he had the day before when he and Cas had stopped by the bunker. Dark circles under his eyes, a five o'clock shadow, an overall look of not having slept in weeks. Garth was in his Texas ranger get-up, his cowboy hat tugged down over his eyes. Chipper as usual, but Dean could read the anxiety in his tapping foot.

Dean's eyes went to the consoles along the wall that tracked demonic and angelic omens, along with devil's gates. It looked as though Kevin had figured out how to turn the warning alarms off, but hundreds of bright lights were shining on the interactive map, meaning that things were going to hell in a hand basket pretty damn fast.

"Hiya Dean. It's good to see you, amigo." Garth furrowed his brow at Cas, and tilted his head a little. "You must be Cas... how are you doing?"

Cas's eyes immediately wandered to Dean, as if looking for some kind of reassurance - but then Dean realized that Cas was actually silently asking for him to explain what had happened to Garth and Kevin.

"Cas has been de-angel-fied," he told them, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Naomi was telling the truth. Metatron took his Grace as part of a ritual to lock the angels out of Heaven."

"So that's how this happened!" Garth said. "I mean, well, for the past twenty-four or so, every hunter in the states has been wondering what the heck made 'em fall all of a sudden like that."

"What kind of state are the other angels in?" Cas asked quickly, breaking his silence. "Have they maintained their Grace?"

Kevin and Garth both nodded. "Oh yeah," Kevin responded. "They're perfectly Graceful, alright. Haven't you guys heard the news?"

"Freak electrical storms, flash floods, Mt. St. Helen's erupting, it's like Lucifer rising all over again. We've got ourselves a problem," Garth tacked on.

"They're turning the Earth into their battlefield," Kevin said, rising from his chair. "In all the major cities, it's practically a war."

"Wait, just wait a minute!" Dean said. "A war against what? Are they fighting each other? They've only been on Earth for a freakin' day!"

Garth and Kevin looked at him like he was terribly out of the loop. "No," Kevin said, shaking his head. "They're fighting the demons. _All_ of them. Everywhere. You see those blips on the electronic map? Those are devil's gates. They're opening all over the world."

* * *

Sam finished the Latin incantation that would allow Crowley to make his way past the demon warding sigils. Sam's hand was firmly fixed on his forehead, and he had been rattling off the dead language for the past few minutes. Much to his displeasure, he hadn't been able to convince Sam to remove his handcuffs.

"Come on, let's go-" Abruptly Sam cut off, his hand falling from Crowley's forehead and instead flying to his own arm. He blinked several times, a groan building in his throat.

"Oh, bollocks, not again-" before Crowley could even finish, he felt the same searing agony that he had the night before. Sam dropped to his knees. Orange light pulsed from his forearms. Crowley collapsed back against the Impala, growling in pain. Liquid fire poured through his veins, and black began to creep in at the edges of his vision. Sweat trickled from his forehead, and he felt as if his vessel's skin was boiling off.

"Make... make it stop!" Sam croaked, ducking his head and putting his hands behind his neck, curled up as small as the gigantic man could get. Crowley, normally, would have had a witty remark on hand, but he could barely string two coherent thoughts together, let alone a sentence.

Then, almost as quickly as it began, it stopped. He sagged to the ground, his back sliding down the passenger door of the Impala. Sam's fit subsided at the exact same time, and he heard Winchester Jumbo-size gasp when the pain mercifully relented. Crowley tugged up the sleeves of his suit and button-down as best as he could with his cuffed hands, and he managed to catch the residual orange glow on his forearms just before it disappeared.

After a long moment passed, Sam looked up at him. "Are you okay?"

He blinked in subdued surprise. "And why would you care, Moose? Feeling guilty, are we?"

"Will you just give me a straight answer, for once?" Sam said, in the process of struggling off of the ground. He managed to make it to one knee before falling again. Crowley pushed himself away from the Impala, straightening the lapels of his suit as he looked down at the hunter. He had recovered from the attack fairly quickly - he felt drained, but he didn't look half as bad as Sam.

He stooped down next to him. "I'm fine, compared to you. Can you walk?" he asked, a fraying thread of concern making its way through him. There was a lengthy pause before Sam responded.

"I don't know."


	6. The Devil You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kevin is pissed and a war begins.

"Come on, then." Crowley worked his way under Sam's arm, once again acting as a horribly disproportionate crutch for the giant.

Sam looked down at him, brows drawn together in confusion. "Crowley..."

"Wouldn't want brother dearest to think the worst of me, now would I?" If he didn't return Sam to Dean in relatively decent shape, his chances of getting out of the damn handcuffs would turn even slimmer.

Sam nodded blearily, and they continued their path towards the bunker's entrance. They pushed through the heavy steel door, moving along like some horrible imitation of a three-legged race.

They stepped through the door and into the Winchesters' hidey hole, and it took only a few moments for Crowley to realize precisely where they were. Immediately upon setting eyes on the massive aquarian star on the wall, he knew: this was the ever-so-elusive Men of Letters stronghold.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. He'd spent a large chunk of the forties and fifties searching for their headquarters in the United States. And here it had been, hiding in an old power plant in Kansas, just ripe for the taking. He could appreciate the irony of it all, the fact that he'd been invited (more or less) into the very place he had for so long been set on infiltrating.

The largest treasure trove of lore, spells, and magical objects on the planet, and Sam and Dean Winchester were sitting right on top of it.

Why was he even surprised?

He heard voices coming from up ahead. Dean, Castiel, and two others. One familiar, one not.

The familiar voice: shaky, adolescent. Kevin Tran, his old pal. It wasn't likely the lad would be terribly happy to see him. After all, Crowley had taken certain... _liberties_... with his mother.

The memories came in a hot, hard rush. Blood. Tears. Rage. Screaming. _"Why won't you break!?"_ She wouldn't give up her son, no matter how he made her hurt.

In the end, he'd killed her. There was no point in keeping her alive.

Bile rose in his throat, and for a moment, he thought he was going to throw up again. _Gah, damn this fucking blood!_

Dean and Castiel turned to look at he and Sam once they entered the bunker's foyer.

Dean didn't seem to like the idea of Crowley touching Sam, but upon a quick analyzation of his brother's state, decided there were more important things to worry about. He was at Sam's side in just a few moments. Sam's massive load was shifted from Crowley to Dean. Dean helped him down the stairs, Crowley trailing behind.

And once they reached the ground floor... "Crowley!?"

There stood Kevin, next to a man wearing what he could only guess as a _Walker, Texas Ranger_ cosplay. Kevin, predictably, did not seem pleased to see Crowley.

"Kevin! It's been too long." He realized that his usual bravado was slightly diminished by the fact that his voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

_"You know what? I've already won. I've got the angel tablet, you little smudge. I've got deals and plans up the jacksie. And I don't. Need. You."_

Oh yes. He'd strangled Kevin half to death the last time he'd seen him, hadn't he?

"What the hell is he doing with you guys?" Kevin asked, instinctively backing up.

To be fair, their reunion was probably the last thing Kevin wanted.

"So _this_ is Crowley, huh?" Texas Ranger asked.

"I'm sure my reputation precedes me," Crowley replied as Dean deposited his brother at a large table.

"Somebody answer me!" Kevin burst out. "What is he doing here!?"

"It's a long story, Kev," Dean told him, watching Crowley with wary eyes. He clapped his brother on the shoulder as he turned back to the prophet.

"Wait a minute... the third trial... is he  _cured_?"

"Half," Sam coughed, speaking for the first time since Crowley helped him inside. "Humanity, but he's still a demon."

"And you guys just let him in here!?" Kevin exploded, facing turning bright red. "HE'S STILL A DEMON AND YOU LET HIM WALK STRAIGHT THROUGH THE DOOR!?"

"Come on, calm down-" Dean began, but the prophet cut him off.

"Don't tell me to calm down, not after everything he's done to me! To my _family!_ "

"If it makes any difference," Crowley said, interrupting Kevin before he could continue with his histrionics. "I am sorry for the, ah... missteps I've made with you." He hadn't apologized to anyone in centuries. To say that he was out of practice was a severe under exaggeration.

"You're sorry," Kevin repeated, his voice dropping down into a monotone. Silent rage burned in the prophet's eyes. He turned his attention to Dean and Sam. "I'm done."

"You're needed," Castiel told him, his voice steel. "You cannot leave now. The remainder of the angel tablet must be translated."

"Sorry Castiel, but you're not an angel anymore. You can't force me to do anything," Kevin said, shaking his head. He disappeared for a moment down an adjacent hallway.

Crowley looked sideways at Castiel, who seemed distant and troubled. More so than usual.

Kevin reappeared with a duffel bag over his shoulder. It must have already been packed... apparently leaving wasn't a spur of the moment decision for him.

"Hey, Kevin, will you just stop and think about this for a second?" Dean said. "You can't just storm off like this, not with the angels falling. They'll come after you."

"Like Garth told you, they don't have their wings anymore. They're powerful, but not as powerful as they were before. I was on the run for a year when you were in Purgatory, and I did just fine," Kevin argued, stalking forward. Dean moved to block his path.

"Kevin-"

"When the lines get blurred? When we starting working with the bad guys? That's when I'm done," he told the eldest Winchester.

"Listen, we're not working with him. He's just... Sam..." Dean fumbled to explain, but Kevin just pushed past Dean. Crowley was surprised that the hunter didn't manhandle Kevin to stop his angst-ridden escape.

"I'm out. Gone. Goodbye, don't try and find me- I'm going to go try to put my life back together."

"Kid, come on!" Dean burst out.

Kevin didn't look back at him. He did, however, stop directly in front of Crowley. Crowley lifted his chin slightly, appraising the worn down young man in front of him. Against his will, he felt a stab of sympathy for Kevin. He'd been handed a very rough lot in life, of late. No one deserved to be thrown to the wolves without even volunteering for it.

_Especially when one of those wolves is me._

"You're sorry?"

Crowley nodded. "...Yes. I am." He dropped any hint of snark from his voice.

Kevin looked at him for a long moment before letting his fist fly directly into Crowley's jaw.

Crowley was startled to find that it actually hurt a bit. He groaned and put a hand on the side of his face, but before he could express his displeasure, Kevin was already gone.

"Prat," he muttered, rubbing the side of his face. Why did people seem to have such an affinity for punching him?

Dean turned to Texas Ranger, who had observed the entire situation with a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and anxiety. "Garth? Can you please run after him to make sure he doesn't-" before Dean could finish, Garth nodded.

"On it. Be back in a jiff."

The four of them watched as Garth exited the foyer before all of them simultaneously turned to look at each other.

 _What now?_ seemed to be the question hanging in the air.

"Well, this is just great," Dean said, throwing up his hands in exaggerated defeat before leaning over his brother and putting a hand on his back. "Sam? You okay?" He turned his gaze briefly to Crowley, almost accusingly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. It's not as if it was his fault that the moose was about to keel over. He certainly hadn't signed him up for the demon trials.

Sam nodded. "F-fine... just... need to lay down."

Still looking at Crowley, Dean asked, "What the hell happened to him?"

"He had an attack," Crowley answered vaguely. "The trials are still coursing through him, and his body's on its last legs."

Dean grimaced, anxiety prevalent on his features. He then shook his head slightly before patting his brother on the shoulder and moving to help him to his feet. "Okay, come on, let's tuck you in."

"N-no," Sam stammered. "I want to know what Garth and Kevin said while we were outside. Just take me to the lounge," he said.

"Sam, I really think you need to rest-"

"They brought news of the other angels," Castiel interrupted Dean as he took up Sam's other side. He watched the ex-angel and Dean escort Sam out of the room and down a nearby corridor, slowly but surely.

 _Good,_ Crowley thought as he followed them. _I'd like to hear what our fine feathered friends are up to, as well._

They deposited Sam on the couch in what could be best described as a living room, and he sighed as he sank against the cushions, eyes falling closed. Dean sat down by his brother's feet, not taking his gaze off of Sam for a second.

"While he plays mother hen," Crowley said, coming to stand behind Castiel. "Why don't you share with the class, Kitten?"

Castiel looked over his shoulder at him, frowning before looking to Dean for confirmation that it was alright for Crowley to hear everything as well. Dean nodded in affirmation.

_Always the loyal pet, aren't you, Castiel?_

"According to Garth and Kevin, it didn't take the angels long to regroup once they fell. They are openly waging war on the demons that are currently on Earth. There have been hundreds of demonic omens, and devil's gates are opening everywhere. It appears that more damned souls are escaping Hell in an attempt to try and outnumber the angels."

"It's a full-on demon/angel war," Dean tacked onto Castiel's explanation. Crowley's hands clenched into fists. How _dare_ his army move without his command? He'd only been gone for a day and a half! How could this be possible!?

"You're telling me that the demons are operating on their own?" Crowley asked, his voice a low growl. "They just decided unanimously to attack the angels _without my consent_?"

"Well, you've been a little tied up lately," Dean commented dryly.

"This is ridiculous," Crowley said. "I've been gone for less than forty-eight hours. There's absolutely no chance that the legions of Hell would move without my express and specific command. They know the consequences for insubordination." Recollections of dishing out said consequences hit him at full force, and he had to put a hand against the wall to steady himself as another wave of that insidious, goddamn _guilt_ hit him.

Dean arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"Can't you tell what's happening with the demons, and with Hell? You told me once that as King you have a connection to Perdition. You can feel it," Castiel said.

"Yes, I can... usually. Ever since Moose gave me an octuple dose of the good stuff, however, I haven't been... _vibing_ with Hades, so to speak. I expect that sense will recover along with the rest of my powers."

"Well, they are fighting the angels," Castiel reiterated. "It started today, after the word spread through Earth and Hell that they had truly fallen. Whether you like it or not, it seems that your forces have decided to attack without consulting you."

"Maybe they think that Abaddon killed you," Sam offered sleepily. "Obviously Hell knows you got captured, since she showed up."

"Whoa, wait, Abaddon crashed the party when you were doing the last trial?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, yeah... she showed up, I don't know why, I don't know how she knew where we were, even..."

Crowley mock coughed to bring attention to himself. "That bit was my doing, actually. See the wound there on his wrist?" He gestured to Sam, who grimaced slightly. "I got a little feisty before the injections turned me... malleable. I took a sample bite of the Sam Special. Using his blood, I tried to contact my followers, but unfortunately for the both of us, Abaddon intercepted the call and decided to pay us a visit instead."

"There's your answer then," Dean said. "Everyone Downstairs thinks your dead as a doornail."

"So, what are we going to do?" Sam lifted his head as much as he could, looking to his older brother for guidance.

"We'll work out a game plan once we've all had some time to rest," Dean told him. "Especially you. We're not doing anything until we figure out how to get you better."

"Dean. You can't do that," Sam said immediately. "Listen, I d-don't know what's wrong with me, I don't know what the trials did, but if the angels and demons are duking it out, we don't have time for you all to sit around my sickbed. You've got to do something."

Just those few sentences seemed to put the younger Winchester out of breath. All three of them noticed. "Sam, we're not going to just leave you here alone-"

"You know what, you're right. We should talk about this in the morning," Sam said, turning his head away from his brother. Dean pursed his lips before exchanging a glance with Castiel. Dean set a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing slightly.

"Okay. We'll talk in the morning. Do you want to go to your bed?"

"I'm fine here..." it sounded like Sam was already drifting off to sleep.

"Alright. Goodnight, Sammy," Dean said, expression softening more than Crowley had ever seen before.

Sam didn't reply, having already passed out.

Dean sighed heavily, rising to his feet. His eyes immediately went to Crowley, gaining a hard edge to them. "Time for you to see your new room, Crowley."

* * *

"Sweet dreams," Dean said, sliding the door shut to the fully-equipped demon dungeon and giving the King of Hell the best shit-eating grin he could manage. Crowley promptly gave him the finger before he disappeared behind the faux shelves. It had taken a good deal of threatening with Ruby's knife to get the demon inside the room and inside the devil's trap, but Dean had told him that if he kept being a smartass, he'd chain him to the wall, and that seemed to have tempered Crowley's protests somewhat.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, glancing around the dusty archives of Room 7B. Castiel stood in the threshold, looking at him critically. Seeing Cas in his own loose fitting clothes and the kicked-puppy expression on his face, Dean was reminded of a sentiment he had been feeling all day: _Damn, I really need a drink._

Dean brushed past Castiel, motioning for him to accompany him to the kitchen.

The angel... ex-angel... followed dutifully behind him. Cas... Christ, he was going to have to teach the guy how to live as a human. That task was going to fall solely onto his shoulders, with Sam out of commission, and it didn't appear that his friend was currently adjusting well to the constraints of humanity.

Once in the kitchen, Dean grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the cupboard, taking two dusty glasses along with it. He looked over his shoulder at Castiel. "You want a drink, Cas?"

Castiel considered the offer for a moment before nodding slowly. Dean handed him the glass and poured him two fingers of the amber liquid before serving himself double that amount. He drank deeply, reveling in the bitter taste and burn in his throat. He needed a little mind-fogging after the past couple of days.

Cas sipped at his own. He knew Cas had plenty of experience with liquor, but he had been a celestial being then. He wondered if human Cas would be able to handle his booze as well as angel Cas.

"You're pretty quiet," Dean observed, leaning against the counter. Castiel shrugged his shoulders, blue eyes distant.

"I have... much on my mind."

"I bet," Dean replied, waiting for him to continue. Castiel frowned.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Cas took another draught of his bourbon. "I'm scared," he told him, voice low.

Dean blinked in surprised. That wasn't a good sign. He'd seen Castiel afraid before, but only when things were getting world-ending-bloody bad. The fact that he was now, well, that could only really mean one thing, right?

He didn't know what to say back, except for the truth.

"I'm scared too, Cas." And he was. He was scared for Sam, scared for Cas, scared for Kevin, even a little scared for himself.

The sky had fallen, and now they had to pick up the pieces... there was a long, long road ahead of them.


	7. My Angel Without Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas learns what nightmares are, and Kevin is a prisoner.

After they'd finished their drinks, Dean and Castiel left the kitchen. Dean intended to set Cas up in one of the spare rooms and lend him another pair of clothes that he could wear to bed. However, when they stepped back out into the foyer, he heard voices from the entrance to the bunker, along with the slamming of the steel front door.

Immediately on alert, Dean withdrew his pistol from his holster, aiming it ahead of him. "Get behind me," he said to Cas, who he knew was unarmed. "Who's there?" he called out.

"It's me!" a familiar voice echoed from the entrance. It was Garth. "Well, I mean, it's us. Kevin and me."

"About time! You've been gone for over an hour," Dean said, holstering his weapon and moving to intercept Garth and Kevin. Cas fell into step beside him. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, he saw that both hunter and prophet were soaked from head to toe. Garth looked tired but cheerful, and Kevin looked just as jack-pissed as he had earlier. Garth had a hand fisted in the fabric of the prophet's hoodie.

"Is it raining or something?" Dean asked.

"Nah," Garth said. "I tackled Kev here into a creek."

"And nearly drowned me in the process." Kevin's teeth were chattering.

"Just for future reference, he's really fast, I've been chasing him like Wiley Coyote for the past hour," Garth shared.

"I understand now, though," Kevin said, jerking himself out of Garth's grip and dropping his sodden duffel bag on the ground with a wet thud. "I'm a prisoner here."

"You're not a prisoner," Dean told him with a sigh. "The fact is, you're a prophet, and that's not a job you can just retire from. Especially when shit like this happens. We need you to translate the angel tablet, and you should know as well as I do that if you run off, you're going to have angels and demons after your ass in a heartbeat. Here, you're safe. That's why we gave you the key to the bunker in the first place."

"Guys like us, right?" Kevin asked sarcastically, glaring at Dean with something that looked a hell of a lot like betrayal. "And now you want me to sleep under the same roof as the demon who killed the only two people in the world that gave a crap about me."

Dean wanted to find someway to let Kevin know that he and Sam gave a crap about him, too, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. Stressed, Dean carded a hand through his hair.

"We're dealing with Crowley, alright?" He was just as displeased by Crowley's presence as Kevin, but he knew that it would upset Sam to no end if they kicked the demon out on his ass. Not to mention the fact that Crowley would wreak a lot less havoc as their prisoner than if he was running amok again. "He's locked in our little demon dungeon right now, he's not exactly the guest of honor. We're just trying to figure out what he is now that he's got some humanity... supposedly."

Kevin just continued to glare at him. "Can I got to my room now?"

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Friggin' kid. "Yeah, yeah. Go get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Kevin made a beeline for the hallway that led to his room. Dean wished there was something he could do to fix the royally fucked-up mess that Kevin's life had become, but quite frankly, that wasn't in his job description. Kevin hadn't volunteered for this, didn't deserve it, but people don't get what they deserve- they just get what they get. Sad, but true.

"That went well," Garth commented lightly. If it had been anyone else, Dean would've assumed they were being sarcastic, but it was Garth, so... yeah, he was being dead serious. "Well, guys, I'm gonna head out."

Dean eyed the other hunter. "Don't you want to change first, Garth?"

Garth shook his head. "I gotta get going, man. Things are getting bad over in Cleveland. Couple dozen of us have networked, decided to head up there and see if the angels will let us lend a hand. Lesser of two evils, right?"

Dean nodded in understanding. There was a war on, by the sounds of it. He wanted nothing more than to grab the keys to the Impala and follow after Garth in an attempt to get in on the action, to try to change the tide of the sudden battle that had started, but with one glance at Cas, he knew that he couldn't do that.

"Good luck, dude. Call me if anything big happens."

"You got it," Garth said, tipping the brim of his cowboy hat at them. He gave both Dean and Cas a hug (Cas's face was the only thing in the past twenty-four hours that came even close to making him laugh), and without another word, the hunter left them, making his way up the stairs and out of the bunker.

"The angels won't let him or any other hunter help," Cas said after a moment of silence. "They're too proud."

"Who do you think's leading the angels? I mean, they've been at each other's throats since Lucifer and Michael got locked in the Cage, and now suddenly they all come together, just like that?"

"I can only guess, but I would say that Anthriel and Nisroc have allied together. They control the largest factions of angels," Cas told him before taking a seat at the strategy table. Dean sank down next to him.

"You mind giving me a crash course on who the hell they are?" Dean asked.

"Nisroc became second in command in the intelligence division after Ion's betrayal," Castiel explained, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Anthriel currently leads the garrison stationed on Earth. She took over after Zachariah's demise. If they somehow formed an alliance and were able to gather all of the angels under their command, they would certainly be a force to be reckoned with."

"If they're doing as much damage as it seems, they must have most if not all of their mojo still intact, even if they don't have their wings," Dean said. He wasn't sure which was worse, the fact that the demons had for some reason decided to rise up in rebellion, or the fact that thousands of super powerful angels were running around, getting ready to fight them.

"Yes."

"What do you think of those two? On a scale of one to Zachariah, how much do they suck?"

"Anthriel is a warrior I have respected for a long time. She fought on my side during the Civil War in Heaven. I haven't had much personal experience with her, though," Cas shared. "I don't know much of Nisroc, but I have learned that angels working closely with Naomi are not to be trusted."

"Great, then," Dean said sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. "We're in a bad way, Cas."

It was an encore of the apocalypse, and they were even more poorly prepared than last time. Cas nodded his head in agreement, his eyelids drooping slightly. The former angel opened his mouth in a quiet yawn. Okay, that was just _weird_. Seeing his superhuman friend do something so... well, _human._ That was going to take some getting used to.

"You need to get to sleep," Dean said, standing up. Cas mirrored him. "Come on. I'll show you your room."

Cas hadn't slept while he'd been there recovering from his injuries inflicted by Crowley, so he'd never seen one of the many extra rooms in the bunker. Dean made his way down one of the adjacent corridors, Castiel following close behind him. Dean made a quick stop in his room to grab some clothes for Cas to sleep in. Cas shuffled behind him, looking over the room. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Your room... it's very you," Cas told him, seeming genuinely interested by the photo of Dean and his mother on the night stand.

"Thanks," he replied, not really sure what to make of the statement. "It's nice having my own room. Never really had that luxury before."

"I haven't, either," Cas responded softly. "Though that has never really occurred to me until now."

Dean grabbed a pair of sweat pants and an old Metallica t-shirt that was a little too tight on him. He passed them to Cas. "Well, now you do. First time for everything, right?" Castiel accepted the clothes from him, and the two of them left Dean's room and made their way to the one several doors down. Directly next to Dean's room was Sam's, then the one that Kevin had taken as his own. The fourth one in the hallway would be Castiel's.

Dean opened the door, letting Cas go in before him. He stood in the threshold as his friend looked over the room. All it currently had was a dresser, the bed, and a night stand, but he hoped that maybe over time Cas would decorate. What the hell he would decorate with, he wasn't sure.

Cas sat down on the edge of the bed, almost curiously. "Here you go, man. Home sweet home. Try to get a good amount of sleep, tomorrow's gonna be busy. I'll take you clothes shopping, get you some of your own stuff. We've gotta get some groceries, too. Then we need to work out all this crap with Kevin, Crowley, look into how to get Sammy better... you know. Regroup. Work out a game plan." Castiel didn't respond, simply nodded. "Alright then... night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

* * *

_He is looking at his own reflection in the mirror. He feels the souls inside of him, writhing around, as if he's filled with insects eating away at him. His abdomen burns. He's half convinced that the power of the souls in Purgatory are burning a hole straight through him._

_He brushes his tie out of the way, then unbuttons his clean white dress shirt, revealing the stomach of his vessel, which he's only seen a few times. For a moment, it's normal, but then he sees his skin bubbling, something inside of him reaching, reaching, trying desperately to escape. His body has become a cage, and there is a monster more horrible than he's ever imagined rattling the bars._

_~~**"LET US OUT,"**~~ the voices in his head scream. **~~"LET US OUT!"~~**_

_The scene changes. Instead of looking at his own reflection, he's looking down at Dean. Dean's face is bloodied, and he's looking up at him with tears of agony and betrayal in his eyes. The hunter grips the sleeve of his trench coat. "This isn't you. Cas, I know you can hear me. I_ know _you can hear me. Cas, it's me. We're family. We need you..._ I _need you."_

_"You have to choose, Castiel! Us, or them!" Naomi commands in his mind, and he feels invisible fingers of steel digging into the sides of his skull. **"KILL HIM!"**_

_But he can't do it. He's practiced hundreds of times, watched his best friend die over and over and over again, but looking down at the real thing, he knows he can't do it. "No... I won't hurt Dean."_

_Dean disappears. Now it's Sam, scrambling back from him. "Y-you're not real!" he insists. He grabs Sam._

_"Sam, I'm sorry that I ever did this to you." With that, he extends his Grace to Sam, and he transfers the madness of Hell and the Cage into his own mind. Corruption colored red-black shoots through his veins, releasing Sam from its hold and taking him instead._

_He hears Lucifer's voice next to his ear. Castiel feels cold as ice._

_"It's been awhile, little brother." Everything is black now. He turns to face Lucifer, who stands alone in the darkness. He smirks at him._

_"No," Cas stammers, backing away, but there is no escape._

_"How's it feel to Fall, Castiel?" he asks, taking a step towards him. "Metatron clipped your wings... he stole your Grace... and now you're just another bottom-feeding human." Lucifer grips the side of his face, his fingernails digging in. Castiel whimpers, unable to move. "You're useless, powerless, and we both know that you're not going to be able to stop Xaphan. He'll destroy mankind. He'll continue my mission. It's going to be Hell on Earth... forever. And you know what, Cas?" The devil leans in closer, teeth too white and eyes too blue. "It's all because of you."_

Castiel bolted up in bed, gasping for breath. His hands flew to his face, checking to make sure that Lucifer's hands weren't there. He kept his eyes open wide, afraid to close them again. He tried desperately to calm his irregular breathing and steady his heart. _What is this?_

Then, he thought of the many nights he had spent watching over Dean as he slept, with or without the hunter's knowledge, and how Dean would jolt awake suddenly. His eyes would be wet, and his heart would be beating wildly in his chest. His eyes would fly incoherently around the room, eventually landing on Sam. Then, he'd sink back into his bed, relaxing ever-so-slightly, but still looking terrified of an invisible enemy.

Nightmares, then. He'd... had a nightmare.

After a span of about fifteen minutes, he tried to go back to sleep, but found that it was a fruitless endeavor. Strange noises echoed in the bunker. There was no comforting sound of breathing from Sam, no quiet snores from Dean. There were no windows, no light streaming in from the outside. It was dark, he was alone, and that bothered him so much more than it should.

When the time hit three, he decided that there was no chance of him being able to sleep here. He knew that it would be rude to wake Dean, but fatigue dragged at his limbs and he wanted desperately to close his eyes and let sleep take him, but the emptiness of his own room and the waiting darkness inside of his own mind made the prospect seem less than favorable.

He rose from his bed, pulling absent-mindedly on the fabric of Dean's t-shirt. On it were rows of white crosses, with the hands of a puppeteer dangling strings over them. The word 'Metallica' was emblazoned over the top. He was of the belief that this was one of the musical groups that Dean listened to. It was very comfortable, and it smelled of Dean.

Castiel made his way to the door, opening it up and stepping into the corridor. He shivered, the concrete floor ice cold against his feet. He made his way past the rooms that he knew belonged to Sam and Kevin, and paused in front of Dean's. He had liked seeing Dean's room, earlier. He knocked, against his better judgment.

"Dean?" he called his friend's name tentatively. There was a groan from within.

"Come in," Dean said, his voice muffled. Cas pressed through into Dean's room, where the oldest Winchester was laying spread-eagle, facedown on his bed. Dean lifted his head to look at him blearily. "What's up?"

Castiel shuffled awkwardly. "I... uh... I am having issues sleeping."

Dean sat up, giving him a searching look through his sleep-fogged eyes. "Falling asleep or staying asleep?"

"I had... nightmares, and I couldn't fall back asleep. The silence was, uh, bothering me." Describing his troubles to Dean was proving more difficult than he originally thought.

"Err..." Dean pursed his lips and considered him, and Castiel suddenly felt that coming to Dean's room had been a bad idea. 

Castiel shook his head, turning to leave. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you. I'll see you in the morning."

"Hey, Cas, will you wait a damn minute?" Dean stalled him before his hand could settle on the doorknob. "Listen, if you're having trouble sleeping with no one else in the room, you can bunk with me for the night." Dean then laid down so his head was at the end of the bed and his feet by the headboard. He patted the other side of the bed. "No problem. Sam and I pretty much slept in the same bed until I was eleven or twelve. It'll be nostalgic." Dean gave him what Castiel supposed was probably intended to be a supportive smile, even though it came out as more of an awkward grimace.

"Thank you," Castiel told him, grateful that Dean hadn't sent him away, although he was confused as to why they needed to sleep upside down. Perhaps this was some human custom he was unaware of. He made a mental note to ask Dean about it in the morning.

He laid down carefully next to Dean, making sure that the hunter had enough space to lay in his preferred way without colliding with Castiel. "No, Cas, I meant-" he began when Castiel laid down next to him, head hanging slightly off the foot of the bed, but then rolled his eyes and seemed to decide it unimportant. "Whatever. Alright, try to get some sleep."

Castiel nodded, even though he knew that Dean probably couldn't see him in the semi-darkness of his bedroom. For a few minutes, he just laid there, counting Dean's breaths. Eventually, they became deeper and slower, and Castiel guessed that his friend had fallen asleep. He closed his eyes, a sense of contentment washing over him for the first time since he had become human. Dean's body was warm next to him, and slowly but surely, the even sound of his breathing willed him into a dreamless sleep.


	8. Wake Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley sings Bowie and cooks breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention that this fic takes place in the summer of 2015, as I'm taking the two lost years into account.

The next morning, Dean awoke to the sound of his alarm blaring "For Whom the Bell Tolls" at eleven o'clock, just as it was set. By instinct, he threw his hand to the side, searching for the snooze button, but instead found what felt like a nose. _Wait, what the hell?_ He opened his eyes, immediately looking next to him. The memory of the night before came back to him when he saw Cas snoozing peacefully at his side.

Right. Cas had been having trouble sleeping. He had a feeling he knew why. One thing angels never had to deal with: nightmares. Cas hadn't exactly had the easiest life, and his was significantly longer than the average human's, which meant more bad memories. When he saw Cas last night, he had been reminded of himself after the angel had rescued him from Hell.

It was an old song and dance for Dean. Waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, just wanting to be near someone so badly, just to know that he wasn't alone, that the motel room around him was real, that he wasn't back in _that_ place. He'd had to resist the urge to clamber into bed next to Sam in the hopes that the sound of his baby brother's snores could keep the night terrors away.

Looking back, he half-wished that he would've done it. He knew it would've made him feel better. If that's what Cas needed now, then so be it. Yeah, okay, maybe it was a little on the gay side bunking with your male best friend, but if Cas needed to sleep next to someone in order to get some shut-eye, then he wouldn't judge him for it.

Dean threw his legs over the side of the bed, pushing himself up with a groan. God, sometimes he woke up and he just felt old - like someone had poured sand into his joints. He was well and good into his thirties now, so he supposed that he should expect this kind of thing. He made his way to the other side of the bed, slamming the off button on the alarm before looking back at Cas. How the hell was he still sleeping?

It was trippy seeing Cas sleep. He had hands folded over his stomach, and he was on his back, perfectly straight. He didn't look tense, or angry, or contemplative. He just looked... asleep. Relaxed. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen Cas _relaxed_ before. It was almost a pity that he had to wake him up. He decided that he might as well let him sleep a little while longer. He'd go make breakfast for himself, Sam, Cas and Kevin, then rouse the ex-angel.

He made his way out of his bedroom and began walking towards the kitchen, stretching languidly. He heard silence from the rest of the bunker, except for... singing?

_"Strange fascination, fascinating me... changes are taking the pace I'm going through..."_

Fucking _Crowley._

The accented singing seemed to be coming from the kitchen, and that immediately put Dean on red alert. He cursed himself for having left his gun in his room, but he still had Ruby's knife sheathed and concealed at his waist, so he wasn't completely defenseless. He only grew more concerned when he saw that Sam was no longer on the couch.

Dean removed the demon-killing knife from its sheath, sprinting towards the kitchen with the weapon gripped firmly in his hand.

 _"Ch-ch-ch-changes, turn and face the stranger, ch-ch-changes, don't tell them to grow up and out-_ oh, morning, Squirrel," Crowley greeted him as he burst into the room, looking around wildly for danger. He was shocked when he found none. Sam was sitting at the table, looking as ill and shaky as he had the night before, but unharmed. He was hunched over, a cup of what appeared to be coffee gripped in his hands.

The position Crowley was in was even more surprising. The King of Hell was in their kitchen, hovering over the stove... cooking what appeared to be scrambled eggs. Now that he had time to stop freaking out, he sniffed the air. It smelled surprisingly good. But, more pressing matters at hand - how the hell did Crowley get out of the dungeon?

"How did you get out of the devil's trap?" he demanded immediately, still gripping Ruby's knife in his hand. Crowley smirked at him.

"Moose decided to let me stretch my legs," he explained. "I'm still chained, so don't get your panties in a twist." He held up his hands, which were still bound in the demonic handcuffs Dean had put on him the day before. The chain between them was long enough that Crowley wasn't hindered, but the handcuffs were put on him more with the intention to suppress his powers than to keep his hands bound. Crowley arched an eyebrow at him before turning back to the eggs.

Dean's mind was completely stalled in "What the fuck?" mode as he turned to look at his brother. Sam raised a hand in greeting.

"Morning."

He contemplated yelling at Sam for letting Crowley out and then demand that the demon be put back in his place, but looking at Sam, he was surprised that he had even managed to make it to the table in his current state.

"Morning," he replied stiffly, sitting down next to Sam. "How're you feeling?"

Sam grimaced. "Like crap."

He clapped his brother on the shoulder, not entirely sure as to what else he could do. Sam's hands were shaking badly, and his brother's skin was boiling hot. A thin sheen of sweat covered his entire body.

 _Sammy, I've got to figure out a way to fix you before this thing kills you,_ Dean thought to himself, worry creeping into his chest and making a home there.

The toaster dinged. Crowley collected the two pieces of toast that sprang up and placed them on a paper plate. "Okay, what the hell, Crowley! Why are you cooking?"

"Because I can, and because I'm bored. Pick whichever motive is less likely to get that knife in one of my orifices," Crowley responded dryly. "I'm quite the cook, believe it or not."

"Since when do demons know how to cook?"

"I'm over three hundred and fifty years old, I was bound to pick up a domestic skill or two in that time," the demon replied. "And before you ask, no, I haven't poisoned it. Ask Moose, he's been sitting in here the entire time I've been at it."

Dean frowned, glancing sideways at Sam, who nodded in confirmation. This didn't make any sense. He had an angel without wings sleeping in his bed, and a demon with humanity cooking him eggs. He really wished that he knew when his life suddenly took a trip to Crazy Town.

"Whatever. Just don't tell Kevin that you made it," he said, sighing slightly.

"I wasn't planning on it," Crowley replied. "Go wake up the brat and the angel. This is almost done."

Dean nodded, making his way out of the kitchen and back to his bedroom. Opening his door, he saw that Cas was still asleep.

"Hey," he said loudly. Cas groaned slightly. "Breakfast time." Cas opened his eyes, looking over at Dean, then at the clock. "Sleep okay?"

"Yes," Cas responded, slowly rising from the bed with a wince, his hand going to his lower back. "Thank you for letting me sleep in here."

"Don't mention it," he said. "Especially to Sam. He'll never let me live it down." Cas stretched once again, and flinched. "You alright?"

"My limbs are stiff, and they hurt when I move them," Cas supplied, seemingly perplexed and somewhat concerned. Dean almost had to laugh.

"Cas, do you have any idea how old Jimmy was when you possessed him?"

"I believe he was thirty-seven at the time," he responded.

"Well, there you go," Dean told him, turning to head out of his room. "You're human now, man. Means aches and pain. I got 'em too, if it makes you feel any better."

"Why would that make me feel any better?"

"Never mind. Breakfast is on the table. Oh, and heads up, Crowley's out there," he called over his shoulder before making his way to Kevin's door, which he banged on with his fist. "Kev! Come on, grub time!"

"I'm coming," Kevin said, sounding only slightly less pissed than he had the night before.

Dean stifled a sigh. They were going to have to figure out what was to be done about Crowley. They could keep him here permanently, but there was really no point to it. Crowley kept the demons in order. He was more useful in Hell than here, especially now with the angels falling. Crowley needed to reign his troops in.

But then again, Crowley was Crowley. The damn demon had been on a murder spree for the past week, and he almost killed Jody. Left to his own devices, Crowley was nothing but a danger to them and everyone they cared about. Sure, he had some humanity now - supposedly - but people didn't change over night, if at all.

Back in the kitchen, Dean seated himself at the table between Cas and Sam. Crowley had the good sense to have everything set out already, having cleansed any sign that he was the one who prepared the meal. He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, apparently not planning on eating himself.

Dean looked up at the demon suspiciously. Crowley smirked at him, as if to say, _"Scared, Winchester?"_

Defiantly, he took a bite. He was surprised to find that the eggs tasted fairly good. Better than he could've done himself. He was still lost on how Crowley learned to cook with conventional appliances, since the only time that the guy needed to eat had been in the 1600s.

Castiel was already tearing into his food without hesitation, which wasn't particularly shocking. Sam picked at his own food. A few minutes later, Kevin emerged from his room, seating himself on Castiel's other side. His eyes found Crowley's, and his lip curled in an obvious display of spite.

"Shouldn't you be in the nifty demon torture dungeon?" he asked. Crowley met his gaze, unflinching.

"They decided to let me out for a walk," Crowley responded evasively.

Kevin seemed to contemplate taking his fork and stabbing Crowley repeatedly, but instead decided to duck his head and attend to his meal. Dean felt a wash of relief. It was way too early for this shit.

"What's on the agenda for the day?" Sam asked hoarsely after about fifteen minutes had passed. He dropped his fork, his eggs barely touched. His hand went to his stomach, and he looked as though he was going to be sick.

"Well, you need to rest," Dean said. "Cas and I are going to head into town and pick him up some necessities, then go grocery shopping. Kevin, you need to get started on the angel tablet today, man."

"Whatever," Kevin answered, shoving his plate away and standing up before stalking off to his room.

"Great," Dean muttered. "And Crowley, you are going to go back to the dungeon, and you're going to _stay there_."

"Going to have to stop you there, because I'm not going to willingly go back in your lovely little torture box," Crowley informed him.

"Oh, the hell you aren't!" Dean replied, standing up. "We're not letting you run around this place."

"I've been running around since the sun came up," Crowley replied evenly. "Damage is done."

Cas stood as well, squaring his shoulders. "You _will_ go back in the devil's trap."

Crowley quirked his head at Castiel and smirked. "Too bad you can't make me. Damn shame about you being Graceless, really."

"Alright, you son of a bitch-" Before Dean could finish removing Ruby's knife from the deep pocket of his sweats, Crowley held up a hand.

"Notice your brother? How he's sweating like a pig and looks like he's going to vomit all over that nice mahogany table?" Crowley asked, nodding towards Sam, who didn't say anything to contest the statement. "The Littlest Prophet is going to be pouring over the rock with the scribbles on it, and someone's going to have to make sure Moose doesn't keel over while you're away."

"You think I'm going to trust you alone with Sam?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Dean," Sam grunted, lifting his head. He looked at his brother. God, but he looked so sick."I can take care of myself for an afternoon. I'm not an invalid."

"Oh, really? 'Cause right now, you sure look like one," he snapped, not really meaning for the statement to come out as harshly as it did.

He could tell by the hurt look on Sam's face that he had overstepped his bounds, but damn it, his baby brother looked like he was dying, and he didn't have half a clue how to fix him. This wasn't something he could just salt and burn, he couldn't just kick it in the ass, it was something invisible and terrible that was eating away at Sam.

Crowley flinched visibly, putting a hand over his chest as if something was paining him. Dean was confused when he detected no mocking in the gesture. Sam and Dean both turned to the demon.

"No, please, go back to your family spat. I'm peachy." He waved them off.

"There is no spat," Sam said flatly. "Dean, go with Cas. I'll be fine. Leave me Ruby's knife; if he tries anything, I'll kill him."

"In your weakened state, Sam, I'm not sure that would be as easy as you think," Cas said.

"May I remind you that he's not the only one running on fumes?" Crowley said. "Thanks to your little experiment on me and these bloody handcuffs, I'm practically impotent."

"Yeah, well, still. I think a strong breeze is enough to kill Sam, at this point," Dean grouched in response, but Crowley did have a point. He was weakened, and if he gave Sam the knife, Crowley would think twice about attacking him. But, this still put Sam alone with Crowley, and he didn't like the idea of his brother being alone with the demon again.

"Dean, I'll be fine. Just go, okay?"

Looking between Sam and Crowley, he knew that this was an argument he wasn't going to be able to win. He sighed, taking his, Cas, Kevin and Sam's dishes and depositing them in the sink. He turned to Crowley, stepping into the demon king's personal space. Crowley, thoroughly unintimidated, just looked up at him with an expression of mild indifference.

"You touch Sam, and I swear to God, I will end you, humanity or not," Dean said, his voice laced with venom. Crowley gave him a sardonic smile.

"Understood. Crystal clear," he replied.

Following that, Dean departed the kitchen, Cas trailing behind him, seeming displeased with his decision to allow Crowley to stay with Sam.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Cas asked as Dean handed him his usual outfit of black suit, white dress shirt, blue tie, and trench coat, which he had thrown into the washer the previous night.

"No, but what's new?" Dean said, exiting the room so Cas could change. He then retreated to his own room, donning jeans and a t-shirt, accompanied by his father's leather jacket. He met Cas back in the foyer when he was finished. It was somewhat comforting to see the former angel dressed in his usual holy ad salesman get-up, although he had foregone the tie, which was hanging limply in his hand. "No tie?"

"I am unsure of how to properly put it on."

Dean sighed, then motioned for Cas to go get the tie. He put it on the for the angel, making a mental note to teach him how to do it himself sometime in the near future. When he was done, Castiel was looking much more put together than usual, since his tie was actually on properly for once, though his hair was a haphazard mess.

Dean retrieved a brush from the bathroom and handed it to him. "Your hair's a wreck, dude."

Castiel nodded, putting the brush to his short dark hair and dragging it downward. He winced. "Is this supposed to be painful?"

"No. You're pressing too hard."

Cas nodded again before obediently lifting the pressure he was putting on the brush. Dean watched as his friend slowly but surely brushed his hair for the first time. When he was done, the two of them went to depart the Men of Letters bunker. He glanced back at Sam, who was on the couch, a lore book clutched in his hand. Crowley was hovering nearby, examining the console that provided the locations of the devil's gates and demonic omens.

"We're heading out."

"You'll be sorely missed," Crowley replied, his eyes not leaving the electronic map. Dean promptly ignored him. Sam looked up from his book and gave him what he guessed was intended to be a smile, but came out as more of a pained grimace.

"We'll be here."

Casting one last glance at his ailing brother, and already feeling guilty for leaving Sam, he and Castiel departed, making their way out of the bunker and to the parked Impala. The main outlet mall in Lebanon was only about four miles away, so they didn't have a long drive.

Castiel was mostly silent, staring out the window with an expression of both curiosity and melancholy. He hoped that Cas remembered his offer of a listening ear if he needed to talk, but Cas had never been the pour-your-heart out type. He didn't know if it was his upbringing as an emotionless angel, or the fact that the only human he'd really spent an extensive amount of time with was him, and he was about as emotionally repressed as they came. He briefly wondered if he'd set a bad example for Cas.

The silence was broken when they arrived at the strip mall. He turned off the car and looked sideways at Cas, who was looking at the Sears sign with something almost akin to trepidation.

He had to shake his head in exasperated humor. He was about to take the Angel of Thursday clothes shopping.

_Our lives are weird._


	9. What You Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas discovers khakis and McDonalds.

The minute Dean and Cas were out of the bunker, Crowley turned to Sam.

"You care to tell me what the bloody hell that was?" he asked.

The younger Winchester looked up from his lore book, brow furrowing with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Back in the kitchen, when you and Squirrel were arguing. I felt like something hit me," He tapped the center of his chest. "Hard. It was emotion, not one that I could really discern, and it _definitely_ wasn't my own. Since you're the only one I'm currently sharing blood with, I'm guessing it came from you."

"You felt my emotions?" Sam said, sitting up quickly. He seemed to immediately regret the action, as he coughed hard into his hand. "How?"

"It must be the blood," Crowley replied, playing with his bottom lip. This was getting intriguing. Troubling, but intriguing. "Some kind of connection's formed between the two of us." He walked briskly to stand behind the couch, putting his hands on the back and looking down at Sam. "Think. When you feel strong pain, the attacks from the trials - I feel it as well. Then, back there, when I'm guessing big brother made you feel woefully inadequate, I felt it."

"But I haven't felt anything from you," Sam said. "Well, except for this morning. There was this... tingling sensation. In my temples." He motion around the aforementioned area for emphasis.

Crowley almost shuddered at the thought of the morning. After the oldest Winchester had left him in the dungeon to stew in his own distinctly unpleasant, condemning thoughts, he'd made it his mission to escape. He hadn't been bound to the chair inside of the devil's trap. His hands were still cuffed, but they didn't restrain his movement much. Experimentally, he'd tested for weaknesses in the devil's trap. He been surprised that he was able to scrape some of the paint off of the floor with a fingernail, something that he hadn't previously been able to do. This could only mean that his demonic essence was weakened, and he didn't enjoy the thought of that at all.

Crowley left the dungeon quickly. Squirrel, in his arrogance, had left the sliding panel unlocked. He found himself in a room filled with old files. From there, he departed out into one of the main corridors. The first thing he saw was Sam, about ten feet away, lying motionless on the floor.

Crowley had rushed to his side to find Sam laying face down, a small pool of blood pooling around his mouth. He had dragged him back to the couch, laying him down carefully. He'd been barely coherent, trying to speak, but his words came out as haggard coughs.

He'd cleaned Sam's blood up off of the floor, and for reasons he wasn't about to dive into, he'd sat at the Winchester's side through the early morning hours, wiping the sweat from his head and the blood from his mouth, bringing him water and helping him to the kitchen when he requested coffee. He'd insisted that the boy eat, even though he'd been less than willing.

It had seemed familiar, and that caused a pit to form in his stomach. Had he cared for an ill person in his human life?

Regardless, being with a sick Sam was far better than being alone in the dungeon, absorbed by memories, by horrible recollections of what he'd done. The screams, his own laughter, ringing in his ears, taunting him. Even worse were his one-track thoughts of forgiveness, of redemption, even though he knew that he had been too far gone for that for centuries. No, nothing could wash the blood on his hands away.

"Have you ever seen something like this before?" Sam asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Not between a demon and a human, anyway. A human and a human, sure, black witches have had their phases with blood magic, but we're two different species. This shouldn't even be possible."

"Well, apparently, it is," Sam said. "I don't know how I feel about this."

"You've got the bloody library of congress in here," Crowley responded with a shrug. "Research blood magic, see about finding a way to break the connection. Once I can leave - if I'm allowed to, that is - I'll see if some of my more shady associates know anything more."

"How is your mojo, by the way?" Sam inquired.

Crowley sighed heavily. _Not nearly as strong as I'd like._

"I think I'd probably be able to teleport myself a state over if I really focused, but that's not enough to get me down to Hell. Until then, you're stuck with me, darling," he said, but then amended his statement. "Curious thing, actually, you convincing Squirrel to not only drag me along to your bat cave, but to let me baby-sit you for the day. Why?"

Sam shifted slightly, setting the book down on the coffee table. "Because I can tell that you've changed, even if you aren't fully human. Back at the church, I could see it..." The hunter looked away. "I could see it in your eyes, I guess. You were crying. You were talking about love and forgiveness... you offered me your neck, you _wanted_ to be saved. I was the one who did that to you, so, you're my responsibility as long as you're not one hundred percent."

"I'm your responsibility?" Crowley asked with a hint of amusement. "Really, it's feeling more like the other way around."

Sam let out a weak laugh, sinking back against the cushions. "Yeah, yeah..."

"Go to sleep, Moose," Crowley said, his tone soft. "You need it." The hunter fell asleep quickly. Crowley sat down on the coffee table, watching him as he slept. Forty-eight hours ago, he would've given just about anything to kill Sam Winchester. Now he was practically watching over him.

He would've laughed, if the whole notion wasn't so ridiculous.

* * *

He was relieved that Cas, at the very least, had decent taste in clothing. It was a little swanky for Dean's blood, but at least he hadn't gone for tight jeans and v-necks or something. He was into button-ups, and apparently, Cas really liked the color blue, as six of the seven shirts he picked out were some shade of blue, though Dean had managed to convince him that he should throw in a red one as well.

"Chicks dig red," he said, by way of explanation.

Cas had proceeded to ask why he should worry about the opinions of infant chickens.

Cas also liked khakis. Cas had picked out _eight pairs_ of khakis. Dean could only assume it was because it matched the color of his trench coat.

"Dude, I'm all for you picking what you want, but you've got to put some of these back. You need jeans, too." Cas had nodded and reluctantly placed some of the pants back on the shelf.

Cas also decided that, like Jimmy, he preferred boxers to briefs. Dean told him that he was proud of him and meant it. Only pansies wore briefs.

By the time they had finished (and bled several of Dean's fake credit cards dry), Cas had a full wardrobe, which he quietly thanked Dean for paying for, even if the money wasn't actually his. Back in the Impala, they drove to Lebanon's local Wal-Mart and bought enough groceries to get the four of them (Sam, himself, Cas and Kevin - Crowley didn't need food, obviously) through the week. Castiel was helpful enough, but he did form an odd habit of sniffing all of the fruit.

"It smells pleasant," was all that Cas said on the subject.

Afterwards, they drove to a nearby McDonald's for a quick fast food dinner. Cas didn't know what he personally would like, so he just ordered what Dean got - a double bacon cheeseburger.

Cas liked bacon.

He was strongly reminded of when he would take Sammy clothes shopping for school each year. John would give them a credit card and send them on their way to a secondhand clothes outlet. Dean would often skimp on getting new stuff for himself so Sam could have more. He was shooting up like a weed at the time, after all, and Dean's hand-me-downs weren't becoming on the kid.

Cas was more talkative on the way back to the bunker, asking questions about things he'd seen at the mall or the restaurant, trying to better understand the society he had just been forced to be a part of. He was like an inquisitive child, in a way, but even when his questions were ridiculous they were delivered in Cas's typical deadpan manner. It was amusing and exasperating at the same time.

However, the entire day, worries about his brother nagged at him, so much that he had called to check on Sam four times by the time they'd finished shopping, with the other hunter getting more and more irritated with each call.

"Dean, I am sitting on the couch, reading through a book on angel lore, just like I was when you called an hour ago. Crowley has not tried to kill me and Kevin is safely in his room working on the angel tablet. You don't need to keep checking in on me." That had been about an hour ago.

Needless to say, he was happy to be heading home, so he could stop having mini-heart attacks as mental images of Crowley stabbing Sam to death played through in his mind's eye.

Soon, they were making their way into the foyer, both of them cradling several bags of Cas's new clothes. They crossed the threshold into the foyer, and Dean's eyes immediately went to the couch. Sam was still there, but his eyes were screwed shut and sweat dripped down his forehead. His pallor was almost gray, and he was shaking violently. Crowley was at his side, a bucket held aloft in one hand, a damp washcloth in the other.

Dean immediately dropped the bags he was carrying on the large table in the foyer and raced towards his brother, Cas following close behind.

"Sammy?" Dean said. Crowley looked up, and Dean was startled by how the demon looked. Dean had known Crowley for years now, and he had never once looked anything but what he was: a king, whether it be of the Crossroads or Hell itself. However, right now, Crowley looked well and truly _old_. Old and tired.

"Dean?" Sam coughed, opening his eyes to look at his brother. "You're home."

"Man, Sam, what the hell?" He stooped down next to his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. Crowley backed silently out of the way.

"I had an attack, just a little bit before you walked in," Sam said. "I'm f-fine, I just... I just need a sec..." he said before breaking into a coughing fit. Blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth, and Sam's eyes went out of focus. He sagged back, dragging in gasps, his chest rising and falling erratically.

Dean cursed, clueless on what to do, and that made him hate the situation even more.

"I need to speak with you," Crowley said sharply, and without a hint of sarcasm in his tone, something that surprised Dean. He turned to look at the demon. He took in the bucket of cold water, the trash can next to the couch filled with bloody tissues, the thermometer and empty soup bowl on the coffee table. Dean realized with a jolt that Crowley had actually been taking care of Sam throughout the day. " _Now."_

Guilt swept over him like a wave; he'd actually left his sick brother alone all day, left him to be taken care of by a demon.

"I will stay with Sam," Castiel offered from where he stood by the table.

"I d-don't need to be looked after... I'm-"

"I swear to God, Sam, if you say you're fine one more time I'm going to punch you in the nose," Dean snapped, even though he knew he was being a hypocrite. How many times had insisted he was fine when he was dying on the inside?

Crowley grabbed him by the sleeve and forcibly dragged him out of the room and into the corridor that led to their bedrooms. Dean shirked him off, glaring at the demon. "What?" he snapped.

"Moose is in a bad way. I'm going to assume that you realize that he's not going to just bounce back on his own."

Dean stiffened. Crowley wanted to talk about Sam's health? What did the demon care? But, then again, it seemed as though Crowley had been taking care of Sam while he and Castiel were out... but why, that's what he kept wondering. Why would Crowley help Sam? Humanity or not, he doubted that Crowley had suddenly developed a soft spot for his brother. And Crowley showing any kind of compassion... that was bordering on impossible.

"Yeah. I've figured that much out for myself."

"I have a solution. Or at least a temporary one," Crowley shared, shoving his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. "Since you like to play mother hen, I thought I should bring it up to you instead of Moose, who you seem to think is incapable of making his own decisions."

"If you've got a point, make it."

Crowley arched an irritated eyebrow. "There's just no foreplay with you, is there?" He flicked his eyes to the doorway, as if to make sure that they were truly alone. "Fine. I think if we get Sam back on the good stuff, it'll keep him from getting worse. Probably improve his condition significantly, as well."

"The good stuff?" Dean echoed. Crowley couldn't be suggesting what he thought he was...

"Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about," Crowley said. "Demon blood. Moose's drug of choice, from what I hear. Admirable trick Ruby pulled, getting him hooked on the stuff."

"Oh, _hell_ no," Dean burst out. "You think I'm going to let you get my little brother hyped up on demon bitch blood? After what happened last time? I've had to see him detox twice, and each time..." his voice faltered. "No. Just no. No friggin' way, Crowley."

"Will you think about this rationally for five seconds?" Crowley replied. "Would you rather have a demon-blood addicted Sam, or a dead one? That's the choice you're making here, whether he lives or dies."

"There's got to be another way!" he exclaimed. "There has to be. I'll find it. There is no way in hell I'm putting him back on that crap."

"Your judgment's clouded," Crowley said, crossing his arms and leveling an icy glare at Dean. "If you'd stop and look at the big picture-"

"Right, right - it's all because of our 'biggest handicap'," Dean hissed, quoting what Crowley had said when he and Sam had captured him two days beforehand. "Our humanity. Well, how does it feel riding the short bus with the rest of us?"

Crowley's eyes flashed with anger, and he stepped threateningly close to Dean, invading his personal space. "Thanks to your Moose, I may have humanity, but let me make one thing abundantly clear to you, Winchester. I. Am. Not. Human," he emphasized each word, his voice a dangerous whisper.

Dean didn't back down, taking another step towards Crowley. "Oh, believe me, I never stopped remembering exactly what you are for a second. You're Hell spawn."

"I'm not just Hell spawn - I'm _the_ Hell spawn," Crowley retorted without missing a beat. "And you'd do well to remember that. Now, how about instead of standing here, arguing with me, you listen to one of the only other people on Heaven, Hell, or Earth that gives a rat's ass about your brother!"

Dean's fists clenched at his side. How dare this demon act like he cared about Sam? Cared about what was wrong or right for him? Whether he lived or died?

"You just expect me to buy the fact that you suddenly give a shit about Sam? You've been trying to kill us for the past year!" he was shouting now, and he didn't care. The frustration of the past couple of days was catching up with him like a freight train.

"Not much for long-term memory, are you?" Crowley growled. "Who helped you stop the apocalypse? _Me._ Who helped you take out Castiel when he tried to play God? _Me_. Who helped you stop Dick and his cronies? _Me!_ ARE YOU NOTICING A TREND, HERE? WHO GOES TO THE BAT FOR YOU EVERY DAMN TIME YOU MORONS NEARLY BLOW UP THE WORLD!?"

Crowley's eyes flashed their Crossroads red glare, and he grabbed Dean by the collar, lifting him easily into the air and promptly shoving him back against the wall.

Before Dean could try and break free of Crowley's grip, he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Dean's eyes went to the archway that led into the corridor, where Sam was standing with Castiel's help.

"What's going on?"


	10. Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley has a solution and Dean doesn't like it.

Crowley and Dean both stared at Sam and Castiel for a few moments before either of them did anything. Crowley didn't put Dean down. He'd let his temper get the best of him, but he did enjoy the emasculation that Dean surely felt from the fact that Crowley's 5' 8" vessel was holding him up with one hand.

"Moose," Crowley greeted, his breathing starting to return to normal. "How nice of you to join us. How about you tell your brother how much you like living, hmm?"

Castiel tilted his head curiously, but remained silent. Sam furrowed his brow. "Put him down," the youngest Winchester said slowly. He looked better than he had a few minutes before, but if Castiel hadn't been holding him up, Crowley doubted very much that Sam would be standing.

Sam had been okay for most of the day, but shortly before Dean and Castiel had arrived back at the bunker, Sam had another attack. After Crowley had recovered from his own dose of the trials thanks to their newly discovered blood connection, he'd attended to Sam, whom the aftershocks affected much more profoundly.

If they didn't get Sam some kind of help, he wasn't going to last through the summer. Thanks to the newfound humanity he was barely adjusting to, he found that Sam's death was not something he wanted. That would be unacceptable.

"Fine." Crowley eventually acquiesced to Sam's request, dropping Dean back on his feet. The hunter glared at him, straightening his collar where Crowley had grabbed him.

"Dean, what's he talking about?" Sam asked, eyes flicking to his brother.

"Nothing," Dean responded a little too quickly. _Oh, is that what they're calling it nowadays?_

"Your brother and I are having a debate over how to keep you from biting it while we find a way to permanently erase the trials from your system," Crowley informed Sam. This earned him a steely glare from Dean.

"He wants to give you demon blood," Dean said.

Sam's eyes widened, and the giant shook his head adamantly. "No. No way. Not again, I can't."

Crowley sighed heavily. "Do you like being able to barely stand, out of curiosity? This is the only thing that I can think of that could remotely help you."

Sam swallowed, still looking incredibly put off by the idea. "Do you want me to drink yours...?" he asked tentatively.

He looked at Sam for a long moment, trying to communicate to him silently that his blood wouldn't do him any good. After all... Sam's poisoned blood was running through his veins. He couldn't say that in front of Dean, however, so he came up with another explanation.

"No. You get some of my blood in your system, and you'll hulk out and kill the lot of us. You need something tamer - a Crewman Jones type demon, get me? Not like they're hard to find."

"No," Sam reiterated. "I'd rather stay sick than drink demon blood. Plus, capturing demons for me to drain, it would draw too much attention to this area. And considering Cas is public enemy number one right now, that's not a good idea." Sam looked out of breath when he finished. He leaned more on Castiel, who Sam seemed to have forgotten was no longer and angel and therefore no longer had super strength.

"This isn't about risk, it's not about right and wrong," Crowley said. "It's about survival."

"There may be another way."

Dean and Crowley looked at Cas, who had spoken for the first time since he and Sam had entered the corridor. The ex-angel looked grave. Crowley arched and eyebrow at him.

"And what's that? Prayer? Hoping real hard?" Crowley asked sarcastically.

"No," Castiel said. "There have been rumors since I killed Raphael..." He pursed his lips. "Rumors that Gabriel was resurrected."

Dean and Sam's eyes widened. Crowley had to admit, even he was a bit surprised. Of course, he'd found out about the whole incident with Gabriel and the gods from the coin he'd planted in the Impala after he'd first met the Winchesters. He'd suspected that it wouldn't be the last the world saw of the rogue archangel, but no one had heard a thing from the faux-Trickster in almost six years.

"Gabriel might still be kicking?" Dean asked incredulously. "Lucifer gutted him with an angel blade."

"Some in the intelligence division believe that an archangel has to exist as a kind of balance for the Heavenly Host," Castiel shared. "Gabriel would be the most likely to be brought back. There have been supposed sightings, strings of murders done in a whimsical manner that matches his MO." He winced slightly under Sam's weight, then continued. "An archangel would be able to heal Sam, I'm confident of that much. There is very little that they can't do."

"So, we find Gabriel and convince him to help Sam..." Dean's gaze went distant as he seemed to fully comprehend what Castiel had said. "There's no guarantee he'd help us."

"Exactly," Crowley interjected before Dean could say more. "Demon blood is a surefire solution."

" _But_ ," Dean emphasized, tossing him an irritated look. "It's the best plan we've got, so I say we go for it. It's a good square one to start from. Not to mention Gabriel could probably put a pretty big dent in this Xaphan guy."

"If Gabriel faced Xaphan, he would be victorious. No matter how strong Xaphan is, there's barely a thing in Creation that can take out an archangel," Castiel agreed.

"This is idiotic," Crowley pressed, looking back and forth between the Winchesters. They couldn't possibly think that this was the plan they should be going with? He'd been counting on Dean to throw all reason and caution to the wind and do whatever it would take to keep Sam alive, like he was so famous for doing. This was unexpected, and he wasn't a fan of surprises. "This is a complete shot in the dark, and you know it."

"Dean's right, Crowley," Sam said before his brother had a chance to issue a retort. "We can't risk me going back on demon blood. I barely survived the last detox-"

"Then don't detox!" Crowley burst out. "Stay on it! If the angels are running around, then why not have some extra juice? Were you really that bad off when you were getting high on the stuff the first time? You could exorcise demons with your _mind!_ " Oh, the helpful things he'd learned from his listening device in the Impala.

"He was turning into the things that we spend our lives trying to hunt down!" Dean exclaimed. "His eyes, after he killed Lilith, they turned black. He was turning into a monster."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I can't go back there. I'm not proud of the things I did when I was drinking it. It changed me."

_"I turned my back on Dean when I was drinking the crap... I never want that to happen again."_

Crowley blinked. Sam's lips hadn't been moving when he'd said that. So how did he hear that? He furrowed his brow, but Dean took the advantage of his quiet.

"We'll start looking around for signs of Gabriel. Trickster omens. Then we find him, convince him to help us. How hard could it be?" Dean held up his hands. "Not like we haven't done more with less."

"If we're done here," Castiel managed. "I don't think I can hold you up for much longer, Sam."

Sam looked at Castiel, and he seemed mildly surprised. The Winchesters were still growing accustomed to Castiel not being a superhero, it seemed.

"Sorry, Cas. I... I think I can walk back to the couch on my own," he said, giving Castiel what Crowley could only assume was intended to be a reassuring smile.

Castiel reluctantly released Sam, who was unsteady on his feet for a moment before drawing himself up to his full height.

_"Since when has standing been an accomplishment?"_

There it was again! He'd definitely heard Sam speak, but his lips _had not moved_. Crowley felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. This could only mean that the blood connection between himself and Sam was deeper than he'd originally thought. He was beginning to catch stray thoughts from the younger Winchester.

Sam moved slowly out of the corridor and back into the foyer, and Castiel followed close behind, slightly out of breath, but seeming intent on making sure that Sam made it back to the couch without collapsing. Dean went to tail them, but he stopped about a foot away from Crowley, turning to face him.

"I don't know what's going on with you," Dean said. "I don't know how much of you is human and how much of you is still a demon. Fact is: I don't trust you. So if you try to sneak Sam some of the 'good stuff', I will personally rip your throat out. Got that?"

"You should really be watching who you threaten, Squirrel," Crowley snarled. Just because he had humanity, just because he wasn't out for their blood anymore, that didn't mean that he'd let Dean misunderstand his place. Crowley was still the King.

" _Are we clear_?" Dean repeated, his face so close to Crowley's he could feel the hunter's breath on his face.

Crowley had a sarcastic remark ready to leave his mouth, but he thought better of it. For now, he had lost this battle. Fine. They'd search for Gabriel. And when Sam fell further into his illness and there were no options left, then Dean would listen to him. Then he would be proven right.

"Crystal."

In all honesty, he didn't want Sam on demon blood much more than Dean did. He'd heard tell of Sam's escapades with Ruby the year before Lucifer was released from his various flies on the wall. It hadn't been pretty. Birdies said that towards the end, Sam was starting to toe the line between demon and man.

 _Hmm, that's something I can sympathize with_ , he thought with a thrill of disgust.

Without further ado, Dean stalked out of the room, leaving him standing alone. He was surprised that Dean had yet to force him back into the dungeon he'd spent most of the night in. Perhaps it was a silent thank you for watching over Sam. He'd seen the way Dean's eyes had fixed on him when he first came in, a kind of begrudging amazement. He planned to be sticking by Sam until they knew better the details of the blood connection, so he'd rather the oldest Winchester hurried up to getting around to viewing him as an ally instead of an enemy.

Crowley sighed, running a hand through his hair. This connection between himself and Sam was getting worrisome. He'd been sure that he'd actually heard Sam's thoughts during the argument with Dean. This was something deeper than he'd originally imagined. He didn't like this. It was getting too messy, too complicated, and he couldn't maintain the objectivity he once had. He couldn't be the utter, self-serving bastard that he once was. No, his damned humanity, his fucking _conscience_ \- he almost shuddered at the thought - it prevented him from doing so.

Messy... he didn't like messy.

* * *

Dean finally insisted on Sam going to his room, where he'd have more space to stretch out and a smaller chance of being woken up. Once he'd gotten his younger brother tucked in, he came to Castiel's new room. Cas could practically feel the concern radiating off of the hunter.

Castiel was carefully folding his clothes and placing them inside of the drawers of the empty dresser, sorting his shirts into one, his pants into another, and his pajamas and underwear into a third. He couldn't imagine changing his clothes every single day, since he'd only changed about three times in the entirety of his time in Jimmy's vessel.

He liked the clothes that he and Dean had picked out. He'd valued Dean's input. He wanted to be able to pass for a human... he had to, if he intended on hunting with Sam and Dean, which at present was the current and silent agreement. They hadn't talked about what would become of him now that he was no longer an angel of the Lord.

A part of him was frightened that they would abandon him now, leave him now that he was useless. He couldn't appear at their sides with just the call of his name, he couldn't heal their wounds, he couldn't fix things any longer. He was nothing, and he hated himself for that.

And yet, Dean was still with him. For the first time in... he couldn't even remember how long, he and Dean had been around each other consistently for days, and Dean hadn't raised his voice to him, not once. That made him happy. He disliked it when Dean yelled at him. The harsh accusation and hurt in his voice, that sound - there was nothing like it, and it made him feel very small. It was the only noise he'd ever found that he truly detested.

He was wondering how long it would last before Dean and Sam came to the conclusion that there was no longer any purpose or benefit to having him in their lives. It couldn't be long, now. Maybe after Sam was healed, maybe when Dean had time to breathe and time to think, time to realize that he wasn't worth his friendship anymore, they'd rid themselves of him. Castiel's transgressions could be overlooked before when they needed him, but now...

Dean temporarily dragged him from these thoughts. He cleared his throat, and Castiel turned around, staring at the hunter.

"Is Sam alright?" he asked tentatively. Dean merely pursed his lips in response.

"Depends on your definition of alright," Dean replied pensively. He leaned against the door threshold, watching him. Castiel decided that if Dean wanted to talk about Sam's illness, he would, so he went back to his task, occasionally glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Sam's ordeal was troubling him as well. Sam was a good friend, one of the few he had. When Dean had been reticent to forgive him, Sam had always been much quicker to accept him back into the fold, to show concern, to offer comfort. Perhaps the thing he treasured most was the fact that Sam always believed in him, believed that underneath all of his mistakes, he was still good. Cas was glad to have him in his life. Sam and Dean... they were very different, in spite of being brothers. They were a contrast. It was nice to have both ends of the spectrum.

Castiel finished putting away his clothes, sliding his drawers shut quietly before looking towards Dean, who was still watching him intently.

"You seem troubled," Castiel observed, walking towards his friend. "We can begin searching for Gabriel immediately. He does leave discernible patterns, for those who are looking."

"Yeah," Dean murmured, crossing his arms. "Yeah. I know. It's just..." He shook his head. "Never mind."

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps nearby. A second later, Kevin appeared in the hallway, eyes wild and a thick sheaf of notes in his hand.

"Guys," he breathed. "The ritual. I figured out the ritual - spell, whatever - that sealed Heaven shut."

"You figured that out already?" Dean asked. Kevin nodded.

"There's a lot of stuff on it, it's pretty extensive, but it's easier to decipher than the demon tablet, especially since I already know what I'm looking for."

"Well, what's it say?" Dean inquired. Kevin looked down at his notes.

"Okay, I paraphrased a little so it's more in layman's terms-"

"Kev."

"Sorry," Kevin said. The prophet cleared the throat.

"'Let it be known that there is a way to expel all of the heavenly beings from Paradise. A spell, an incantation, that can only be performed by three acts. First, the slaying of a nephilim - an abomination, the offspring of angel and man, a being that should never come to be. Secondly, the securing of the bow of the lowest order of angels, a cupid's bow.'"

Castiel suppressed a sigh. They already knew this. He appreciated the work that Kevin had put into deciphering the tablet, in spite of his discontent with their current living situation, but they needed new information more than anything.

Kevin continued, lip twitching slightly. "'Finally, an angel must be rendered mortal, rendered man. This cannot be just any angel, but..." Kevin trailed off, eyes darting to Castiel for a second. "'...but a seraph. His Grace must be ripped from his body, and replaced with a human soul. He must fall to Earth and live amongst men for the spell to be complete. The angels will fall, every one, any and all will be separated from their wings and forced to walk the Earth. This spell is irreversible _unless_...'" Kevin grinned before continuing. "'Unless the Holy Trials are performed.'"


	11. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a new set of trials are revealed, and Cas learns how to shoot.

"So there's a way to fix all of this crap?" Dean asked immediately. "The Holy Trials - they can stick the angels back in Heaven?"

"Yeah, yeah. As far as I can tell. I still have to work out all of the specifics - I just thought you'd want to know that there's a possible light at the end of the tunnel," Kevin provided, tucking his notes under his arm. "I don't know how long it will take me, but I'll try to hurry."

Dean's mind was reeling. They could fix this. This was huge. He hadn't expected a revelation like this so soon, and the pessimist in him didn't really expect it at all. He sagged against the wall, feeling almost relieved. Another set of trials wasn't something he wanted to think about, but the fact that they could do something, that meant more than anything.

He was surprised also by Kevin's demeanor. The prophet seemed to have cooled down significantly since breakfast. He was more like his usual self. Perhaps throwing himself back into deciphering the tablets had distracted him from Crowley's presence in the Men of Letters bunker.

"This is good," Dean said. "But I want the entire thing translated before we start them, this time. I don't want to get to the end and have the surprise 'oh, by the way, you die' part again."

"Okay," Kevin agreed. "I'm going to get back to it."

"You hungry?" Dean inquired. He had to make sure he monitored how often the teen was sleeping and eating. He didn't want Kevin to start having paranoid delusions again. Maintaining the prophet's sanity was crucial.

Kevin shrugged. "I could eat."

"Alright, I'll bring you something," Dean said, and Kevin nodded before disappearing back to his bedroom. Dean looked at Castiel, who seemed somewhat stunned. He was staring into the distance, brow furrowed. Dean waved a hand in front of the ex-angel's face. Cas blinked, looking back at him. "What's up with you?"

"I wonder..." Cas pursed his lips. "I wonder why Metatron chose me. He could have chosen any seraph. He could have just as easily taken Naomi's, or dozens of other angels, for that matter. So why did he choose me?"

"I don't know," he told his friend honestly. "Maybe he's got it out for you. Maybe he's just a dick. Maybe it's 'cause you're kind of legendary upstairs. Could be anything."

Cas nodded dimly. "Yes, I suppose so." Dean frowned. Cas was troubled, definitely. He was sure that he felt guilty over the angels being cast down from Heaven, but he shouldn't blame himself, not for this. They all thought Metatron was one of the good guys. Turns out he was just an embittered asshole.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Dean said. "If we find Metatron, we'll shove an angel blade up his ass and show him that you don't mess with Team Free Will."

Cas tilted his head in that bird-like way of his. "You haven't called us Team Free Will in a number of years."

"Yeah, well, it's been awhile since we've really been a team, hasn't it?"

Cas went silent, averting his eyes. Dean sighed.

"Listen, Cas, there's been a lot of crap in the past few years, and I'm not saying that I ain't still pissed about it, but the fact is, you're my friend. You... you're family, man. Nothing's gonna change that, and with the way things are going, we've got to stick together."

Cas looked at him with something akin to gratefulness, and the way his shoulders sagged, as if he'd just been relieved of a burden. "Yeah..." Castiel gave him a rare smile. It was strained, but genuine. "Go team."

For the first time in days, Dean laughed.

* * *

Sam heard a knock on his door, and he raised his head as much as he could. His head throbbed mercilessly, and he'd already bloodied several tissues with his coughing fits since Dean had deposited him back in his room. He was still feeling the after effects of his most recent attack.

"Come in," he groaned, barely audible.

His door creaked open, and Crowley stepped into his room, hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking over him with something akin to concern. It was still strange to see that emotion on the demon's face. Actually, it was strange to see any emotion when it came to Crowley.

"How're you doing, Moose?"

"Can't complain," he replied, slowly moving himself into a sitting position. Crowley scoffed.

"For someone who lies for a living, you're not particularly good at it." The demon shut the door behind him. "We need to talk."

"I'm not touching demon blood," he said immediately. "Especially not behind Dean's back." Although he hated feeling like this, hated being in pain and being bed-ridden, he wouldn't go back down that path. He couldn't.

"Don't get your boxers in a twist, I'll leave that alone. For now, at least. No, I'm talking about this connection." He gestured between the two of them. "It's deeper than I originally thought."

Sam furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" He was already puzzled by the fact that his attempt to cure Crowley had bound them together like this. Nothing like this had been documented in the Men of Letters files. Maybe it was because of the demon blood already flowing through Sam's veins thanks to Azazel, or because it was a part of the trials.

"I'm catching stray thoughts from you," Crowley said, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the wall. He eyed Sam, waiting for a reaction.

"Stray thoughts?" Sam repeated. Crowley was inside his head, now? He was feeling more than just emotions from him? "What do you mean, what did I think?"

"Various things. You were afraid that going on the demon blood would cause you to turn your back on Squirrel again. Then complaints about your current condition." Crowley played absent-mindedly with the bottom of his lip. "And so the plot thickens."

"I've been researching blood magic," Sam said. "Discretely. I mean, I don't want Dean or Cas asking questions. It's not that I want to hide this from them, but Dean's got enough on his mind..." He leaned back against his pillows, muffling a cough with his hand. He felt warm blood splatter against his skin. He grimaced. "Anyway, I haven't found anything that's like this. Sometimes rituals can be performed between black witches who already have psychic predispositions to open up a kind of mind bond, but there's never been anything like this, especially between a demon and a human."

"This is the first occurrence, so far as I can tell," Crowley said. "We need to be careful."

"Careful?" Sam echoed.

"We don't know all the repercussions of this. What if one of us dies, hmm?" The demon waved towards him. "You do have a nasty tendency to die on a semi-annual basis. Would I die as well? Or vice versa? This could be very, very bad - not to mention, it's unpredictable. I don't like unpredictable."

"I think the connection would probably be broken if one of us died, at least that's what I can gather from the blood magic books we've got," Sam replied. He realized all too late that he'd just said something he definitely shouldn't have to Crowley. Crowley arched an eyebrow, uncrossing his arms and stepping away from the wall.

"Oh?"

Sam subtly put a hand on Ruby's knife, which was tucked into one of his belt loops. "Err, yeah."

There was a beat of silence before Crowley spoke.

"I'm not going to kill you," Crowley sighed, almost as if he was angry at himself. "I can't."

"Not that I'm ungrateful... but why not?" Sam asked, letting his curiosity get the best of him. He was surprised. Even with Crowley's humanity, he was still the King of Hell. If killing him would end the risk and agony that the trials posed, Sam was almost sure that Crowley would take the opportunity.

"Not completely sure," Crowley evaded, eyes darting away. "I'd blame it on the Moose juice running through my veins."

Sam suspected that it was something deeper than that, but decided not to dig, since Crowley didn't seem to want to continue with discussions of his newly attained humanity. He pursed his lips, waiting for the demon to continue.

"Are you hungry?"

The question caught him off guard. He was hungry, but his stomach was currently doing very unpleasant flips, and he wasn't sure what he would be able to keep down. He shrugged his large shoulders. "I am... I'm not sure what I can manage, though."

"Toast and soup probably wouldn't kill you," Crowley mused. "Hopefully Squirrel picked some up. I'll bring it to you when it's done." With that, the demon turned on his heel and strolled out of the room, leaving Sam blinking in surprise.

Crowley had been at his side consistently since he'd broken out of the dungeon early that morning. He'd wiped the sweat off of his forehead, he'd brought him a trash can, he'd... well, he'd taken care of him, just like Dean would have, and that fact alone threatened to blow his mind and his understanding of Crowley.

_"All those motels, and you never watched HBO? Not once? Girls? You're my Marnie, Moose! A-and Hannah, she just wants to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all? You, me, we deserve to be loved! I DESERVE TO BE LOVED! I just want to be loved..."_

He needed to reevaluate Crowley. Who he was as a demon and who he was as a demon with humanity were two different ends of the spectrum, at least from what he'd seen thus far. Crowley was acting like he cared about Sam, and it was hard to believe that someone other than Dean and Cas cared whether he lived or died.

Crowley had emotions, Cas was human, he was bed-ridden. The angels had fallen and were waging war on the demons, with Earth as their battleground. Things were changing, and he didn't know how to keep up, especially with the trials swiftly draining the life out of him.

He thumped his head back against his pillows, sighing heavily. He could only hope that they would be able to find Gabriel so he could get out of this damn bunker and _do_ something.

* * *

"Dean," Castiel spoke up, catching the hunter's attention. Dean looked up from his laptop, green eyes meeting his own. Since Castiel didn't know how to properly operate a computer, Dean had printed out recent newspapers from the bigger cities in the United States and asked him to scan through for strange happenings. Dean was researching online, trying to find signs of Gabriel.

While he'd been reading, a thought had occurred to him. He was intent on becoming a hunter, intent on trying to still be useful to Dean and Sam, to not be dead weight. Although he was skilled in hand-to-hand and melee combat, he was not particularly experienced with firearms. He knew how to operate a shotgun, but other than that, he'd never used ranged weapons. He'd never had a reason to, after all. But now, he needed to learn how to shoot properly. It was imperitive.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I believe that it would be practical for me to learn how to shoot," he told him, standing up from his chair. The two of them had been sitting across from each other at the large table in the foyer. "Would you be willing to teach me?"

Dean seemed surprised for a moment before he nodded. "Shit, yeah. I didn't think of that. You need to learn." He put a hand on the lid of his laptop, shutting it carefully. "Now's as good a time as ever, I guess. Come on."

Dean rose, leading Castiel to a staircase that led to a lower level of the bunker, obscured by a partition near the entrance to the kitchen. Dean thundered down the stairs, and Castiel tailed him down. He'd never seen this part of the bunker. Dean's hand fumbled along the side of the wall before he found a light switch. He flicked it upward with his thumb, illuminating the room that Castiel quickly realized was an indoor firing range.

A steel table was off to the side, with a veritable armory of spare weapons piled on it, with a shelf underneath the table holding boxes of ammunition. Dean made his way over, rifling through the handguns that were gathered there. He would pick up each one separately, run a hand along the barrel, take out the magazine and look it over. He did this five times, eventually shaking his head and placing each one back on the table.

Finally, he picked up the sixth pistol, testing it in his hand. His lip curled in an almost-smile, and he promptly handed the handgun to Castiel. "There you go. Griffon 1911 combat issue. Anything comes within thirty feet of you, you're good. It's lightweight, good for someone who's new to handguns. It reloads easy and it's accurate as all hell, not to mention the recoil isn't bad. Grip's comfortable, too."

Castiel gripped the gun in his hand, raising it in front of him and eyeing down the sight as he had seen Dean do many times. Dean was right, it was lightweight and fit his hands well. "Yes. This will work."

Next, Dean showed him how to load and reload the gun. He instructed him on the different parts of the weapon, explaining their purpose. Castiel learned quickly. Even with his brain power reduced dramatically by his human state, he was still a quick study, something he was incredibly grateful for, as there was much he needed to learn as a human.

It was well into the late evening when Dean finally let Castiel test his accuracy on the range. From behind the barrier, he aimed at the target about fifteen feet away. He fired six rounds. Three missed, but the other three hit the outer circle of the target. The recoil surprised him slightly, but he kept his grip on the weapon tight.

"Not bad for your first time. Next time, though, don't let your arms slack after the first bullet. You gotta keep 'em straight and rigid. It'll help with the recoil, too."

Castiel nodded mutely. For the next several hours, he practiced, putting all of his focus and energy into the single-minded task of hitting the bull's-eye. He began to get somewhat frustrated when he wasn't able to do so, even after several hours. When the digital clock on the wall struck midnight, Dean laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Cas, man, we need to sleep," he said. Castiel jumped slightly from the contact. His ears were ringing from the continuous gunfire. "We can pick this back up tomorrow, okay? You're doing great."

"I've yet to hit the bull's-eye," Castiel pointed out in a disappointed tone. Dean eased the gun out of his hands and placed it back on the steel table.

"It's only your first time. You'll get better." Dean nodded towards the staircase. "You can bunk in my room again, if you want. Or you can give sleeping on your own a shot."

Castiel fiddled nervously with the edge of his tie. He'd slept peacefully next to Dean. He was afraid that if he tried to sleep alone again that he might have nightmares, and just the thought of the ones he had last night made him shudder. "I... would prefer to sleep with you."

Dean winced at his wording, for some reason. "Okay."

The two of them made their way upstairs. They headed to the bathroom, where Dean removed Castiel's new toothbrush from the packaging and handed it to him. Dean took his own, squirted tooth paste along the brush, and instructed Castiel to follow his lead because according to the hunter his breath was supposedly starting to smell like ass. Castiel was still unsure of what exactly ass smelled like.

Castiel carefully replicated Dean's actions, alternating between brushing, spitting, and gargling. When they were finished, his mouth felt fresh and pleasant. Dean told him to smile at the mirror. Castiel did so, and saw that his teeth were bright white. Dean smirked.

"You're learning."

After that, the two of them changed in their separate rooms into pajamas before meeting in Dean's bedroom. Dean set the alarm again, laid down with his head near the top of the bed this time, and promptly tugged the covers over himself. Castiel didn't get under the covers, but laid down on the bed next to Dean, letting his head sink into one of the pillows.

"Night, Cas," Dean murmured, half-asleep already.

Castiel watched him for a moment before closing his eyes, calm washing over him.

"Goodnight, Dean."


	12. A Bit of Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Garth delivers bad news, and Sam and Dean are at odds.

Dean was awakened by "Shout It Out Loud" playing loudly nearby. He blinked rapidly, blearily identifying the sound as his ring tone. He felt around in the deep pocket of his sweat pants for his cell phone. He picked up the call, and the loud music ceased.

"'lo?" he muttered, almost inaudible.

"Dean!" He recognized the panicked voice. It sounded like Garth. He glanced at the clock. It was just shy of ten o'clock.

"Garth? What is it?"

"I just watched a good chunk of Cleveland get leveled," Garth replied, horrified. "Everything's just blown to pieces, flattened to the ground. There's nothing left... all the people..." Garth faltered. "Dean, I know you've seen the devil himself, but I don't think you've seen anything like _him_."

"Like who?" Dean asked, a pit growing in his stomach. He couldn't think of anything that could have the kind of juice to level a city like that, except for an archangel, and thank God none of those dicks were floating around at the moment.

"Xaphan. That's what the angels were screaming. Me and a bunch of other hunters, there were maybe twenty of us, we offered the angels our help. They turned us away, so we decided to try and flank the demons where they were hiding out, in the old warehouse district on the south side of the city. We're heading over there, and the demons are already in the street. There were human bodies everywhere man, just slaughtered. Then there's this light in the sky, right? The angels that were in the city, they suddenly appeared out of nowhere, all over the place. They looked up, the demons looked up. Then, the demons, they started just... _laughing_. Laughing like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. Then the light, it just got bigger, and bigger, and then there was this screaming, terrible, awful screaming. I drove as fast as I could, tried to get away. My truck got blown about fifty feet from the aftershock. I was knocked out for a few hours, and I just woke up, and... and..." Dean heard the other hunter gulp. "Everything's gone, Dean. Everyone's dead. I - I think I'm the only one who made it," he finished, his voice dropping off.

Dean laid there, completely still for a long moment, trying to comprehend what Garth had just told him. Something strong enough to lay waste to five blocks, to kill hundreds of angels and dozens of humans? He thought Xaphan was just an angel, for Christ's sake! How did he have that kind of power? How was that even possible?

"And you're sure it was Xaphan? Hundred percent?"

"Yeah... yeah, hundred percent. You know what he is?"

"He's an angel. A fallen one, like Lucifer. He's bad news," Dean told him, carding a hand through his hair worriedly.

"There's gotta be some way to take him out... the kind of damage he could do... I don't even know how they're spinning this on the news. It's like a nuke went off," Garth's voice shook as he continued. "What are we gonna do, Dean?"

"What you're going to do is get the hell out of there. Are you hurt?"

"I... I don't know. I just came to." There was a pause on the other end. "I can't really feel my legs all that well."

He cursed softly. "Can you move?"

"I don't know!" Dean could hear the terror now, coming through loud and clear. "I'm bleeding. My head, it's bleeding bad, and my legs... they're pinned. Pinned under some blown up car." Another pause. "I can hear sirens comin'."

"Just hold tight, okay?" he told the other hunter, privately furious that he wasn't there to help Garth himself, that he was stuck hundreds of miles away, unable to do anything. "The paramedics will help you."

"I... everything's gettin' blurry, Dean."

"Garth! Come on, stay with me, man!" he yelled, and Cas murmured a sleepy sound of annoyance next to him.

"Can't... it's gettin' dark."

"GARTH!" The other end went silent, except for the wail of ambulance, police, and fire sirens echoing in the distance. "Son of a bitch," Dean said, teeth gritted. He felt anger welling up inside of him, and before he knew it, his phone was in pieces on the other side of the room. He didn't even remember throwing it. He scrambled over Cas, who was waking up now.

"Dean...?"

He slammed the door behind him, cutting off the former angel before he could say more. He ran into the foyer, turning on the large TV that sat in front of the couch. He quickly flipped to CNN to catch the news. The image that filled the screen was that of wanton destruction. It was an aerial view of Cleveland, and a five block radius was reduced to nothing but a smoking crater. Black, charred, with copious amounts of acrid smoke choking the air above it.

He listened dimly to the news cast for a few minutes, hearing their tragically wrong theories about terrorist attacks, about Al Qaeda, about how this could mean another war in the Middle East, about how this made 9/11 look like a firecracker. It just made it worse that the families of everyone who died in the explosion would never know what had really happened to their loved ones. They'd never know it was some insane angel who apparently had way more juice than they'd ever imagined.

"Dean?" He turned, and Cas was standing by the coffee table, brow furrowed. He was fiddling with the side of the white t-shirt that he'd slept in anxiously. "Is something wrong?" Dean nodded stiffly. "Who were you on the phone with?"

"Garth," he managed, sinking down onto the couch. Cas hesitantly sat down next to him, looking concerned. Dean gestured helplessly at the television. Cas watched for a few moments, his pale blue eyes widening significantly once he seemed to have grasped what had happened.

"How?" was all that his friend said, gaze fixed on the television.

"Xaphan," Dean responded, jaw tightening. What kind of monster could do something like this? Even Lucifer hadn't brought this kind of thing to the table. Sure, he'd tried to turn the Earth into Zombieland, but he'd never just massacred hundreds of angels and humans because he _could_. This was a kind of enemy they'd never dealt with before.

"Impossible," Cas replied with a shake of his head. "Only an archangel would have this kind of power, and even then, doing something of this level would be a stretch of their capabilities."

"Yeah, well," Dean hit the off button on the remote, and the screen went black. "The proof's staring us right in the face. He got a power boost somehow. And it's a pretty friggin' big one." Dean sighed, putting his head in his hands. "What the hell are we gonna do, Cas?"

Cas was silent for almost a minute before he spoke. "When I... after I opened Purgatory, I massacred thousands of my brothers and sisters. Everyone that sided with Raphael died by my hand."

Dean looked up in surprise. Cas almost never talked about or referenced when he'd made himself the new God. It was a sore spot for all of them, and he knew that the guilt still privately tortured the ex-angel. He remembered when Naomi had first brought Castiel out of Purgatory, when he'd told Dean that he feared that if he returned to Heaven, he would kill himself. That was one conversation he wished that he could forget. A knife twisted in his chest just thinking about it.

He waited to see why Cas had brought it up. The ex-angel's eyes darkened as he lowered his head. "Those who guarded the angel prison sided with Raphael. I killed every last one. The only ones who knew how to release the angels imprisoned there were the guards. The secret of how to open and close Xaphan's Cage died with them."

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. Cas's actions from years ago were still bringing about ramifications, even now. He restrained himself from getting upset with the angel, because he knew at this point that it would accomplish nothing. But damn it, he was angry, and he was looking for something, anything to take it out on.

"But there is someone left who may know," Cas continued.

Dean arched an eyebrow, surprised. "Who?"

"Heaven's gardener, the only one who God spoke to," Castiel replied. "Joshua."

* * *

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. It shook him slightly. "Hey, wake up." He groaned, not wanting to move from his comfortable bed. The hand shook him harder. "Oi, Moose, come on." Reluctantly, Sam opened his eyes.

Crowley was leaning over him, watching him carefully. He withdrew so Sam could sit up. Sam's eyes went to the digital clock on his night stand. It was a quarter to eleven. "What's up?" Sam asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"There's news," Crowley explained. "Bad news. Squirrel and Kitten are waiting in the kitchen." Crowley eyed him for a long moment. "Can you walk on your own?"

He honestly wasn't sure. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. Carefully, he stood up. Crowley moved so that if Sam were to fall, he could catch him. Sam's legs shook badly, but he was pretty sure that he could make it to the kitchen if he walked at a mellow enough pace.

Sam cautiously walked out of his bedroom, Crowley following close behind. He distantly wondered what the demon king had been up to while the rest of the bunker's inhabitants had been asleep. They made their way to the kitchen, where Cas and Dean were seated at the table next to each other, both nursing a cup of coffee. Dean glanced up when Sam walked in.

"Morning, Sammy," his older brother greeted. "How you doing?"

Sam shrugged. "Okay." Dean didn't look convinced.

If he answered honestly, it would worry Dean too much. Because in all reality, he felt like he was going to collapse just from the energy he'd expanded walking twenty feet. His head felt like it was going to explode, and he was so friggin' _hot_. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he could feel droplets trailing down his forehead.

"So, what's happened?" Sam said, changing the subject before Dean pressed him further. He sat down across from his brother. Crowley stood behind Sam slightly, crossing his arms and seeming to have no intention of taking a seat as well.

"Xaphan destroyed a five-block radius of Cleveland, killed a bunch of hunters, civilians, and angels, and probably Garth. He's got archangel levels of juice," Dean said quickly, using his preferred 'rip off the Band-Aid' method.

Sam blinked in shock. "Are you serious?"

Dean nodded, grimacing into his coffee. "Dead serious. But we might be able to find someone who knows how to lock this douche bag back in the Cage he came out of."

"Who?" Sam asked. His mind was whirling - another archangel on their hands? It was a hell of a time trying to get rid of Lucifer, Michael, and Raphael. How were they supposed to deal with another one when they didn't even have an angelfied Castiel on their side?

"Joshua," Cas provided. "You met him while you were in Heaven."

Sam nodded, the memory coming back to him. "The gardener who talks to God?" Cas nodded. "Do we have any idea where he might be?"

"Wherever he is, he would not be with the angel forces amassing on Earth. From what I know of Joshua, it's likely that he's abstained from fighting and has hidden somewhere that he won't be bothered."

"So, no," Crowley tacked on. "You don't know where Joshua is."

Castiel shook his head. "No."

"Well, we've got to find him," Sam said decisively. "That's priority number one. The amount of damage Xaphan could do, he could kill thousands of people."

"And here comes the fun part," Crowley muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

"Actually, it's priority number two," Dean responded before draining the last dregs of his cup. "Priority number one is still Gabriel."

"What?" Sam burst out. "Dean, we can put that to the side for now, we've got to go after Joshua!"

"Getting you better comes before anything," Dean stated in a way that said the matter wasn't up for debate. Usually, Sam would have backed off, but this was not something he could stand for. Thanks to Dean's concern for him, they'd already failed to shut the gates of Hell. They couldn't let Xaphan wipe out as many innocents as he wanted just because Sam was sick.

"No, no, it doesn't!" Sam protested, voice rising. "We have to think about the greater good. We can't just drop everything until I'm fixed."

"Well, that's too bad, because that's exactly what we're going to do," Dean replied evenly. Sam couldn't believe how apathetic his brother was acting. How could he do this? Be so selfish? Why was it always like this? Screw the whole world, as long as his little brother got better. Dean was making the same stupid mistakes he'd been making since they were kids, sacrificing anything and everything just so Sam would be okay.

Sam clenched his hands into fists, just wishing that for once, he was able to take care of himself. He wished that Dean wouldn't have to choose between doing what would help Sam and doing the right thing. He damned himself for not completing the third trial. He should've disregarded Dean and finished curing Crowley. Yes, he would've died, but he was starting to think that he would've rather died than having to be sidelined because of his illness and watching the world slowly fall apart because of his own decisions.

"You can't do this, Dean. This guy, Xaphan, he sounds like he's on the same level as Lucifer. He has to be stopped."

"And he will be," Dean agreed. "Once you're better."

Unable to stop himself, Sam slammed his fist down on the table. "Will you stop being such an idiot about this?" Castiel looked awkward, and Crowley seemed irritated as Dean shoved himself out of his seat, glaring down at his younger brother.

"I told you back in Erie, nothing goes above you, Sam. Got that? Nothing. I'm gonna fix you, okay? Just believe that. We're gonna find Gabriel, and he'll fix you, and then maybe we can convince him to fight Xaphan, and we won't even need to hunt down Joshua. Just trust me."

"This isn't about trust, Dean!" Sam yelled. "This is about innocent people dying!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley wince. He must have been catching the shock of Sam's emotions. He pitied the demon, but he wasn't about to calm down.

"Sam, this isn't a discussion, this is _not_ up for debate," Dean said. "We're finding Gabriel and we're gonna make the son of a bitch heal you. I know you're a little old for this, but I'm pulling the big brother card. This is what we're doing, like it or don't, I don't care." With that, Dean roughly pushed in his chair and exited the room, tension radiating off of him.

Sam wanted to follow after his brother, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to catch up without collapsing. He rose slowly, trying to think of what to do next, trying to think through the fog of rage in his mind.

"Sam," Cas said carefully, looking up at him. "Dean has your best interests at heart. Please, don't be angry with him."

"Easier said than done," he growled, making his way out of the room. He heard Dean's footsteps thumping down the stairs to the subbasement. Target practice, most likely. Sam knew that he couldn't manage the stairs, so he'd have to corner Dean about this later.

He decided to just go back to his bed and lay down. That seemed to be all that he was good for nowadays, anyway.


	13. Unwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam gets sicker and Crowley gets stronger.

Crowley debated on going after one of the Winchesters, but decided to let the two of them simmer for now. Sam was too angry to be reasoned with at the moment, and Dean wouldn't listen to Crowley on his happiest days, so it seemed a fruitless endeavor. Crowley sighed as he leaned back against the counter. Castiel still sat at the kitchen table, sipping at his drink. He seemed forlorn.

"What's wrong with you, Ducky?" he asked, using the almost forgotten nickname for the former angel. Castiel lifted his head, pale blue eyes looking unusually dull. He just shook his head, not responding. Crowley sighed.

"Come on. It's not like you haven't confided in me before," he said, arching a pointed eyebrow at the ex-angel. During their partnership, he and Castiel had been around each other enough that they had developed something that was one of the closest things Crowley had had to a friendship since his days as a human. Their conversations, on occasion, had strayed into personal territory, at least on Castiel's side. Generally his feelings of guilt regarding his duplicity with the Winchesters.

Castiel frowned, not seeming pleased to be reminded of the memory, but after a moment of contemplative silence, he spoke. "Metatron may have been the one who pulled the trigger," he began. "But I am the one who handed him the gun."

Crowley tilted his head, watching as he saw the guilt claim the former angel's face. His jaw tensed, and with the way he was looking pointedly away from Crowley, he would hedge a bet that he was trying to hide glistening eyes.

"Ah," was Crowley's first response. "Because, naturally, you're culpable for everything that goes wrong on this infernal rock."

Castiel lifted his head to stare at Crowley, and the demon could see it now: Castiel's eyes were indeed shining. Poor, broken Castiel. The compassion Crowley felt for him was foreign and unwelcome, and it burned unpleasantly in his chest, but it also motivated him to say more.

"If not you, then another angel," Crowley explained further. "You're not that special. You may have been God for a bit, but that spell would've worked with any seraph's Grace."

"I helped him," Castiel argued. "He fooled me into thinking the components of the spell were the angel trials. I believed his lies. I believed that the angels would be shut in Heaven, not the other way around. Because of that, everything is in jeopardy."

"Then do something about it," Crowley replied.

He didn't rightly know why Castiel's guilt frustrated him so much. Castiel, above all, had always tried to do the right thing, had tried to help humans and angels alike. Road to Hell and all that, yes, his good intentions had eventually led to disaster, but the point was that he had _tried_. Because that's what Cas and the Winchesters did. They _tried_. And that should count for something, damn it. It should. It shouldn't mean that they'd all drown in their own guilt. It should be mean that they felt good, good because they tried to make things better.

Castiel said nothing, just stared down at his hands. Crowley tipped up the angel's chin, and although Cas tensed, he didn't pull away.

"Are you listening?" Crowley asked rhetorically. "Do you think that wallowing in your own self-pity is going to change anything? It's not as if just because the angels fell, all of the puppies in the world are going to suddenly choke on all of the babies. You can't go back in time, so you need to focus on right now. Focus on being human, and being good at it. I'm sure your knight in shining denim will hold your hand and teach you how to be a somewhat functioning murderer, if you let him."

A long moment passed where Castiel just stared at him with subdued shock, and Crowley stared back, almost defiantly.

"I'm beginning to think that perhaps you have changed," Cas said at length. Crowley grimaced. _And how._ He dropped his hand, backing away to give the ex-angel room to stand, which he did. "Sam may not have cured you, but you... you are not acting like the demon that I met five years ago. You seem almost-"

Crowley lifted his hand, cutting Castiel off. "Please. Don't say it."

Castiel's brow furrowed, but he nodded. He brushed past Crowley and out of the room. He heard foot steps leading down to the subbasement, and he allowed himself a smirk. Poor bastard was still too easy to manipulate. At least this time, Crowley was manipulating him into doing the right thing, not the wrong thing.

Crowley decided to make Sam some lunch, since the Winchester didn't seem capable of doing much else other than laying in sweaty agony at the moment. However, as he busied himself in the kitchen, Castiel's words continued to ring through his head. _Changes..._

Fifteen minutes later, he entered Sam's room after a knock. Wordlessly, he set a tray down on Sam's bed. Ramen noodles, toast, and a pitcher of tea. Not five stars, but it was good enough for someone who was barely able to hold down their food. Sam looked up from a thick tome, eyes landing on the food, then sliding back to him. He set the book to the side, taking the tray onto his lap with trembling hands.

"Thanks," he said, taking a testing bite of the toast. Crowley didn't respond, instead picking up the book Sam had just set to the side. _Intricacies of Blood Magicks. Hmph. The Men of Letters certainly had one hell of a library._ He sank down on the edge of Sam's bed, paging through it as Sam slowly made his way through his meal.

"Earlier," Sam said finally, painfully swallowing a bit of tea. "When Dean and I were fighting. How much of what I was feeling did you catch?"

"Too much," he responded. "Thoughts, emotions, the whole nine yards. The worse you feel, the more of an open channel I get to Sam Land." He shook his head slightly, flipping to the next page. "I don't know why you feel so useless. It's not as if it's your fault that you're dying."

He realized that he probably could have phrased his last sentence better when he saw Sam flinch. He wasn't really the kind to soften things, humanity or not. "I should be dead," Sam replied, his words almost inaudible. "I shouldn't have let Dean stop me. I should've gone through with the trials and cured you."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm jumping for joy that you're alive... if you'd cured me, I would've hung myself the minute I found a long enough rope."

Sam seemed stunned by the confession. "Wait, what?"

Crowley nodded, slamming the book shut with a grimace. He didn't really feel like getting all heart-to-heart with Jolly Green at the moment, but if it would stop the self-pitying misery coursing through their damned blood connection, then so be it.

"As it is now, I feel like I'm being torn apart from the inside out between my guilt and your myriad unpleasant emotions. I've got a demonic essence that's been partially converted back into a human soul, and it's practically eating itself alive. The one consolation I have is that I still have my powers. I'm still a demon, and I still rule Hell. I'm still me, even though I'm handicapped. If you'd stripped away everything... I'd be a husk. The gates of Hell would've been closed... I wouldn't have seen any point in going on."

Sam stared at him in a shocked silence for a few moments before licking his lips and running a hand through his hair. "I... don't really know what to say to that, Crowley."

"You don't have to say anything," the demon replied. "Just... keep your bloody feelings to yourself."

* * *

The rest of the day passed by without much event. After his fight with Sam that morning, Dean retreated to the subbasement for as much privacy as he could get. A few minutes later, Castiel had appeared at his side - not literally appeared for once, but he'd come down to see him. Cas hadn't pressed him to talk about his fight with Sam, and he was glad for that. There were few things that he hated more than arguing with his little brother.

Objectively, yeah, prioritizing Gabriel over Joshua was a selfish move, but he didn't give a damn about being rational. He meant what he said to Sam back at the chapel. Sam came before everything. Until he was on the mend, they're mission was to get him better. No arguments. He was at least grateful for the fact that Castiel and Crowley hadn't taken a side in the fight. If either he or Sam had someone to back them up, it would've been even worse.

Cas had requested further practice on the range, and Dean had accommodated him. His friend was picking up fire arms well enough. His hands shook badly, which impacted his accuracy, but other than that he was doing surprisingly well. He was hitting the target every time, and it had even got within a few inches of the bull's-eye a few times. Dean quietly instructed him, watching him carefully to see where he could improve.

It reminded him of when he had taught Sammy how to shoot when he was younger. It was nostalgic, maybe even comforting. Things had gone straight to hell, the world could be ending all over again, but at least he could do something here. He could teach Cas how to shoot, how to be human, and that was something. In the grand scheme of things, barely anything, but that was still more than nothing.

He had heard Crowley banging around in the kitchen, and supposed that the demon was making his brother lunch. He was surprised, even though he supposed that he shouldn't have been at that point. He wasn't sure how to feel about the effects of Crowley's humanity. The demon was getting protective over Sam. On one hand, it was nice to have someone other than himself and Cas watching Sam's back. On the other hand, it was fucking Crowley, and when demons started getting friendly, he got nervous. He did not want a repeat of the Ruby incident.

He knew that logically, it was obvious Crowley had regained at least a portion of humanity. However, that didn't mean Crowley wasn't still dangerous. He needed to figure out the King of Hell's true motives so he could put his mind at ease.

Around three, Cas managed to get six bullets in the zone closest to the bull's-eye. The ex-angel smiled a tentative smile, lowering his weapon. Dean clapped him on the shoulder in what he hoped was an encouraging gesture.

"You're doing good, man," he said. "Just practice for an hour or so when you get a chance, and you'll be a regular marksman soon enough." Cas would never be able to shoot like himself or Sam, who had entire lives of running and gunning behind them, but with enough practice, he'd still be an excellent shot.

They made their way back upstairs. Dean glanced around. There was no sign of Sam or Crowley. Worried, he went to his brother's door, even though he was aware that Sam might still be angry with him. He knocked, and was relieved when he heard Sam's hoarse voice call from within, "Come in."

He opened up the door, poking his head into the room. Sam was curled up on his side. When he heard the door, he turned to look at Dean. There was an awkward moment where neither of them said anything.

"Hey," Sam finally muttered.

"Hey," he echoed back.

"...is there something you needed?" Sam asked, looking at him with fevered eyes.

"Just wanted to know if you wanted some dinner... and whether you want it or not, I'm getting you some ice packs." Dean came forward, raising his hand and placing it on his brother's forehead. It was sticky with sweat. "Shit, Sammy, you must be 101, 102."

Sam leaned away from him. "I noticed."

Dean strode out of the room, heading to the kitchen. He filled up a plastic sandwich bag full of ice before wrapping it with a towel. He returned to Sam's room and offered it to him. Sam took it before laying back down and letting the bag rest across his forehead. He sighed.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Sammy..."

"Just don't, Dean," Sam cut him off. "I know why you're doing this. You don't have to explain yourself, and you're not going to change my mind and I'm not going to be able to change yours." He closed his eyes with a sigh. "I'm too tired to fight anymore."

The way his little brother said it, the resignation in his tone, it killed him a little bit. It didn't matter what he had to do, he would find Gabriel and make him heal Sam. He didn't care if he had to go up against an archangel, he was going to make Sam better. Seeing Sam falling to pieces like this, seeing him so sick and in so much pain... it was ripping him apart. He couldn't go down this road. He couldn't lose his brother, not again.

"Just trust me, alright? Like I told you, everything's gonna be okay. It's just gonna take a little time," he assured. He wished Sam was still young enough to believe him when he said things like that.

"I don't really have a little time," Sam said bluntly. "But you know that. We all know that."

Dean wanted to argue, but he knew that he couldn't. With how quickly Sam was degenerating, it wasn't likely that he would make it to the summer. As that particular thought crossed his mind, he could almost feel something inside of him break. Questions he didn't want to answer came to mind. What would he do if Sammy did die? Could a Crossroads deal save his brother? Would he be willing to give Sam demon blood if it meant saving him?

His throat constricted, and he felt heat in his eyes, and he turned away from his brother, not wanting Sam to see the slowly spreading cracks in his strength. He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself. "So, uh, dinner? I'll cook you something."

"No need for that," a voice said from behind him. He jumped in spite of himself, turning to see Crowley standing with two pizza boxes balanced on his palm. The demon smirked. "Pizza fresh from Palermo. Dinner's on me."

"How the hell did you-" Dean began, but Sam cut across him.

"I, uh... I may have let him out of his handcuffs earlier," Sam admitted.

Dean whirled, turning on his little brother in a mixture of anger and shock. In what world was letting Crowley out of his chains a good idea? "You _what?"_

Sam frowned. "Dean, if he was going to kill us, he would've by now. We can't keep him locked here forever. If he leaves Hell, that leaves room for Abaddon to take over." He gave Dean a serious look. "Better the devil you know, right?"

Dean grimaced. "Better no devil at all," he said, glaring at Crowley with open distrust. The Crowley regarded him with cool disinterest, proffering the pizza again.

"If you don't want it, I'm sure some homeless shelter would appreciate it," the demon said. Dean eyed the pizza suspiciously. Crowley rolled his eyes. "If I was going to kill you, it wouldn't be poison, mate. I would be far more creative than that." Dean snorted. Yeah, he could believe that much.

"So, what, you're back to normal? Been zapping all over the place?"

Crowley nodded. He blinked out for a moment, and before Dean even had a chance to call his name in frustration, the demon was back, this time empty-handed. "Been testing them out all day. I'm fit as a fiddle, I'll be ready to return to home sweet Hell as early as tomorrow morning, once I check in at my compound on Earth and see what the devil my flunkies are doing picking a fight with the angels."

"Why not just leave now?" Dean asked, not caring if he sounded rude. Crowley narrowed his eyes, glancing sideways at Sam for a split second, so brief that Dean thought he might have imagined it.

"Hell's a long way off. Different plane of existence. I'm almost there, but not quite. By breakfast time tomorrow, I'll be ready to return."

Dean watched him carefully for a moment. "And you think we're just gonna let you waltz out of here, simple as that?"

Crowley tilted his head, arching an eyebrow at Dean. "Funny, I've been getting the feeling you didn't want me around."

"You've been trying to kill us and everyone we care about for the past year-"

"Yes, and I've been around you for the past four days and haven't made any attempts on your life, Sam's, Castiel's, or Kevin's. Haven't laid a hand on any of you, have I?"

"Doesn't mean you won't be after us again as soon as you're out of here," Dean argued.

"Do you think the stupid act is cute, or is that just your natural personality shining through?" Crowley snapped. Before Dean could retaliate, Crowley continued. "You're not out to shut the gates, so I'm not out for your necks. End of story. And darling, I'm the King of the Hell. I can't just waltz out of my kingdom and go on a little vacation with you lot, hmm? Trust me, with Abaddon and Xaphan running around, you're going to want me down in Hell to make sure the black eyed little bastards stay in their proper place."

"You think Abaddon's gonna make a grab for the throne?" he asked, worry creeping into his voice. He was still kicking himself in the ass for letting the Knight of Hell escape in the first place during their first attempt at the third trial.

"I don't think, I know. I'd stake my reputation on it. She's uppity, not happy with my impeccable leadership. She needs to be taken care of." His expression turned dangerous for a moment, and he was reminded of the Crowley he was used to dealing with - the sadistic, power hungry, violent one. "Little whore tried to _kill_ me... I don't like it when people try to kill me."


	14. Damn You to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Abaddon is a little whore, and Crowley is a Good Omens fangirl.

Crowley leaned against Sam's dresser, crossing his arms as he watched the younger Winchester sleep. Dean had agreed that Crowley should get back to Hell, and then the four of them had gathered in the kitchen to eat the pizza he'd nicked from a very hairy and very angry Sicilian man. It had been a subdued affair, with Dean and Sam still working off the tension from their earlier fight and Crowley being distracted by thoughts of his impending return to Hades.

Truthfully, he could've left at that very moment, but with Sam's condition worsening by the hour, he didn't want to leave him alone overnight, especially when he expected another attack would be coming soon. Even once he returned to Hell and business as usual, he fully intended on popping in to watch over Sam as much as his schedule allowed.

They were connected. What that connection meant, he wasn't sure, but he'd be damned if he let the Winchester die on his watch. There were no guarantees that Sam's death would mean that the blood connection would be dissolved, after all, it could realistically end up killing him as well. He hated that he found himself caring more as to whether Sam lived or died than whether he himself kept breathing.

It had been four days, and the guilt that had boiled in his stomach that night that Sam at least partially healed his black essence still dominated him in the moments where he didn't have something to distract him. The memories, the memories of both his life as a human and as a demon, they clawed at his mind and heart, like wild animals trying to escape from a cage. He'd never even realized how much he'd lost, how much he'd blocked out, how much he hadn't even thought worth remembering...

He couldn't understand his humanity. It felt so strange, so foreign. Like something writhing inside of him that didn't belong, that made him feel things he could barely comprehend. He wasn't a fan of the crying, either. It had been a constant struggle not to start sobbing like a bloody child since Sam had almost cured him.

The demon part of him wanted to kill Sam while he slept, then move on and gut Dean and Castiel, then finish off by spiriting Kevin away along with the angel tablet to uncover any secrets that it may hold. That was the part of him that was familiar, the part of him that he understood. The dark, twisted monster that had suffered in Hell for centuries. That had been tortured on the rack, and then put souls on with sadistic glee.

The Hell memories were some of the worst. While the recollection of his own torture was massively unpleasant, when his torturer had broken him, when he'd finally started putting souls on the rack himself... words couldn't _describe_...

He shuddered. His torturer had always said that they had big plans for him.

_He felt the knife rake up his arm, taking a healthy amount of skin with it and leaving nothing but muscle and tendon in its wake. He threw his head back and let out a blood curdling scream. The demon in front of him merely smiled a small, almost innocent smile before moving the long curved knife to his other arm._

_"It's all part of the process, Fergus," the demon said. "You have great potential. It just needs to be bled out of you."_

" _P-please... please s-stop," he whimpered, a tear trailing down his face. It was endless pain, endless torture. He was going mad, he was forgetting things... forgetting who he was. Who he used to be before the hounds had dragged him down._

_"Oh, I do like it when you beg," the demon whispered against his ear. He felt the cold blade of the knife touch his unscathed arm._

Little had he known that even then he was being groomed to be a Crossroads demon, to be Lilith's lieutenant both in Hell and on Earth. He had been expected to play a role in the apocalypse from the beginning. It was almost funny, in a fucked up way. They'd never thought he'd turn on them, not for a second. Their mistake had cost them dearly. Even Hell's finest couldn't turn him into a simpering lackey, ready to obey their every command.

That was the first time he'd aligned himself with the Winchesters, the first time he'd worked with them to save the world. If the opportunity presented itself, he would do what needed to be done to take down Xaphan. Although he was more worried about Abaddon at the moment, maintaining his rule of Hell wouldn't mean much if Xaphan destroyed everything up top.

Sam tossed in his sleep, whimpering slightly. Crowley's eyes went to the boy, watching him carefully. A few seconds passed before Sam made the whimpering noise again. He flipped onto his back. With his enhanced vision, Crowley could see through the darkness and spot how tightly shut Sam's eyes were, how his lips were drawn back in a grimace. As he went to move towards the bed, he felt a stabbing pain in his forearms.

_Oh hell, not again._

The agony hit him harder than ever before, sending him to his knees. Sam bolted up in bed, gasping as orange light flooded the bedroom. Crowley balled his hands into fists, leaning his forehead against the floor as his body shook violently. The trials scalded through his body, burning him from the inside out. White light flashed in his vision, and he was worried that he might pass out.

Even though Sam was only a few feet from him, when the younger Winchester screamed, it sounded like it came from miles away. A growl was building in his throat, something like the sound of a wounded feral animal. Lines of pain surged through his body, eviscerating every thought. Even with Crowley's remarkable pain threshold, it was overwhelming.

Then, it was over, gone as if it had never hurt at all. He collapsed to the ground, letting out a breathy sigh of relief. After a few moments of gathering himself, he pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair. He gulped, eyes darting to Sam, who was curled in the fetal position on his side, his head tucked between his knees.

"Sam?" Crowley managed. "Sam, are you alright?" He briefly thought of how it seemed odd to call the hunter by his actual name.

"Bathroom," Sam coughed. Crowley went to the younger Winchester's side, turning him over. Sam groaned. His long chestnut mane was plastered to his face and neck with sweat, and Crowley was fairly sure that he saw tears in his eyes. Blood trailed out of the side of the boy's mouth. This was the worst attack yet.

"Come on," Crowley said. "Let's get you up." He put a hand on Sam's back and raised him into a sitting position. He hooked a hand under his legs and helped swing them over the side of the bed.

"C-can't walk..."

"It's alright. I've got you." He put his hands on both of Sam's shoulders, and teleported them to the bathroom. He supported Sam so he wouldn't collapse as soon as his feet hit solid ground. Crowley carefully lowered him to the cool tile floor. Sam's hands immediately went for the toilet seat, gripping either side as he vomited the contents of his stomach into it, his head obscured by the porcelain.

For the next hour, Crowley sat next to Sam, trying to block out the sounds of his nausea. His hand rested on the hunter's shoulder the entire time. Finally, Sam sagged, dragging his arm across his mouth. "Think I'm done," he murmured.

"Back to bed, then?"

Sam nodded. Crowley transported them back to Sam's bedroom. Sam fell back onto his bed, groaning as he bunched a pillow up and rested his head on it. Within five minutes, his snores filled the room, and Crowley relaxed. He returned to his silent vigil, losing himself in thoughts as dark as the room around him.

Around ten, Sam began to toss and turn, indicating that he was bound to wake up soon. Crowley decided that it was high time he took his leave. He straightened his suit jacket, deciding he would stop at his compound on Earth before returning to his quarters Downstairs. Shake down his minions for some info before he went back, find out what the hell was happening with Hell.

He thought of his mansion on the outskirts of Santa Fe, the home he had acquired after Lucifer's fall. He blinked out of existence before reappearing in what was supposed to be his study.

It wasn't his study any longer. The first thing he smelled was smoke - thick, acrid, and choking. He turned slowly in a circle, taking in what used to be his home. He stood on charred floor boards, and he felt the hot New Mexico sun beating on his neck. It only took him an instant to realize that the entire manor had been burned to the ground. The roof was completely gone, and almost all of the walls had collapsed. Small flames still flickered here and there, but it appeared that most of the fire had died away. He looked down at the piles of ash that clung to his Italian loafers.

"How?" he whispered, entirely to himself.

He coughed against the smoke that threatened to smother his vessel's lungs. He walked through the burnt out carcass of the mansion, trying to get himself clear of the smoke. He felt tears burning in his eyes, which he privately hated himself for... but this was his _home_. He'd had it tailored to his custom tastes. Everything from the liquor cabinet in his study to the one of a kind Ottoman in his living room. He'd gone from a shack in Nevada to a home that almost matched the grandeur of his quarters he used to have in Kansas... before Lucifer's loyalists had burned it to the ground and eaten most of his staff.

Apparently, it was happening all over again. He turned the sorrow inside of him into something more comprehendible - anger - and with a flash of rage sent a fireball into a pile of debris, lighting it up like a torch. At least he was getting his powers back to full throttle.

He was surprised to hear a groan from the pile he had just lit up. Eyebrows raising, he waved a hand and quenched the fire. A survivor? Another groan, louder this time, and some of the detritus shifted. Crowley quickly sent the rubble flying with another gesture. Several bodies became visible, one of which was moving, albeit slowly.

Crowley detected demonic influence on the man. Question was, was it one of his men, or one of the demons (he could only assume that demons were responsible for this) who had attacked his compound? The demon lifted his head. His face was caked in blood, but Crowley could make out recognizable features.

"You," he said, tilting up the demon's chin. He blinked up at Crowley with hazy blue eyes. Crowley recognized him now. One of the demons who had guarded the wrought iron gates to his little slice of Heaven... or Hell, rather. "You're one of my grunts, aren't you?"

The demon nodded dimly, pushing himself up on his hands and knees. The suit he wore was caked in ash and soaked through with his vessel's blood in quite a few places. "Y-yes..."

"What's your name?" Crowley asked as he helped the demon to his feet. Before, he couldn't be bothered to remember half of the names of the demons who worked under him. He was the King of Hell, after all. Big rolodex. The survivor spat a clump of blood at his feet, and Crowley's lip curled.

"Laharl," he croaked. "Name's Laharl." The demon shuddered, turning his head to take in the destruction around him. He gripped at his left arm, which looked to be almost severed in half.

"Tell me what happened here," Crowley commanded, his voice deceptively soft. "Everything."

"There were hundreds of them," he began, and Crowley jerked his head towards the blackened grounds, wanting to move out of the remnants of the mansion. Laharl followed dutifully behind. "They were... they were from deep in the Pit. You could tell it was their first time on Earth."

"Must've escaped from the devil's gate that opened in Tombstone," Crowley theorized. "Go on."

"A lot of them had angel blades," he said. "They were well-armed. Killed everyone who didn't smoke out fast enough. When they first burst in... there was a demon in a hot female meat suit in the lead."

"Red hair?" Crowley asked sharply.

"No, no. Brown. Long. She had an English accent, I don't know if that was her or the chick she was riding. I think she was newborn, the way she tore apart..." He broke off, gulping. "It was bloody. Bloodiest fight I've ever seen. Half of the other guards were red splatters on the wall when they lit the place up."

"You fought then?"

"Valiantly, if I do say so myself. Not that it made much difference. They wiped the floor with us, boss."

Crowley sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, tousling it. They had finally cleared the destroyed mansion now, and were moving through the grounds. He didn't know where they were walking. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Yeah. The newborn, she said that Abaddon sends her regards, and to say that you should consider this your official dethroning." He grimaced. "She must've meant the Knight, right? But I thought she disappeared back in the fifties?"

"She's back," Crowley said shortly. "Dethrone me? She thinks she can do that just by going pyro? Nuts at my pay grade don't crack that easily."

"I don't know boss, that's just what she said." Laharl glanced over his shoulder at the smoking ruins. "What should I do now?"

Crowley bit the inside of his lip. An excellent question. "I have a safe house in Nevada, five miles outside of Birchview. Little shack, condemned, but you'll be able to see the protective sigils on the windows. Hide there, heal, and await further instructions. Also..." He looked the demon over. "Good job at not getting slaughtered."

Laharl nodded, a little unsure. "Uh, thanks, boss."

"Wait!" Crowley exclaimed before the demon could disappear. "What of Aziraphale?"

Laharl frowned. "I don't know what happened to him." Crowley cursed softly.

"Fine. Go on, then." Laharl nodded once more before blinking out. Crowley sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets. Even as a full demon, he'd enjoyed Aziraphale's company... even if he could be a little high maintenance on occasion.

He decided that he might as well try to find him. He cleared his throat. " _Aziraphale_!" His voice echoed momentarily, and then was followed by silence. He feared the worst until he heard something. A faint meow, carried on the wind. Crowley made a _t-t-t-t-t_ sound, snapping his fingers.

Covered in soot and looking none too pleased, Aziraphale emerged from the ruins. In spite of his disappointment at the destruction of his home, he was relieved to find that his cat had survived. The plump gray and white cat made a beeline for him, meowing pitifully. Crowley carefully picked up the feline, running a hand along his spine.

"Oh, hush. You're lucky you're not a charcoal briquette right now," he told the cat, who meowed plaintively. "I'm going to have to leave you here for a bit," he explained, placing Aziraphale back down on the ground. "I'm Hell-bound at the moment, and I have a feeling you wouldn't like it down there." He patted the cat on the head. "Back in a mo."

He closed his eyes and focused his energies, gathering the power it would take to go to the throne - the actual Black Throne of Hell, the one made out of thousands of charred human bones that sat in the center of the Ninth Circle. He'd sat on it only once, and that had been when he claimed Hell for himself after Lucifer's fall. If he was being dethroned by Abaddon, then she would most likely be there.

He could hear ear piercing screams echoing around him. They didn't bring him the same pleasure that they used to. He smelled burning flesh and decay. Yes, he was in Hell. He opened his eyes. He was in a cavern made of volcanic rock, surrounded by a mote of lava that bubbled viscously. Cages on pulleys held unfortunate prisoners that were dipped into the lake every few seconds.

He'd tidied up Hell when he'd taken control, all new souls going in the endless line, but he hadn't messed with the Circles. The ones where demons almost as old as Lilith herself honed their craft of soul torture. The Circles were bloody, dark places, the deepest recesses of the Pit. It had never bothered him before, being down here, but now it made his stomach flip unpleasantly. He looked pointedly away from the burning souls. The sole entrance to the Cage was also in the Ninth Circle, underneath the Black Throne.

He looked up at his throne, glistening obsidian in the eerie light of the cavern. Two people stood directly in front of it. One was Abaddon, grinning at him like he was the funniest thing she'd ever seen, and the other was a tall man with short cropped black hair and dark blue eyes. Crowley narrowed his eyes, and he detected what the man truly was... an angel. He could see the halo, now, though the gold of the circle was ringed with black. _A fallen angel_ , he mentally corrected himself.

"Crowley," Abaddon greeted, striding forward. "Glad you could make it! We've been waiting for you."

"What are you playing at, Abaddon?" His eyes slid to the mysterious angel. "Getting on your knees for angels now, are we?"

"Oh, that's right! You haven't been formally introduced." Abaddon's grin widened. "I'd like you to meet my new business associate, Xaphan. Maybe you've heard of him?"

_Bollocks._


	15. Viva la Vida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley stands his ground, and Dean's sexuality is questioned.

"So," Crowley drawled, attempting to appear calmer than he felt. "You're the angel that's been leveling everything in sight, hmm?"

"Yes," Xaphan replied. He didn't blink, his mouth barely moved when he spoke. Crowley could tell he wasn't accustomed to using a vessel. "You're the salesman that Abaddon has spoken of." It wasn't a question. Crowley turned to glare at the Knight, who still seemed incredibly pleased with herself.

"Salesman, Abaddon? Really?" Crowley crossed his arms indignantly. "I'm the King of Hell, former King of the Crossroads, former second-in-command of the demon army. You need to learn to give credit where credit is due, darling."

"You were Lilith's lackey," Abaddon spat. "And it's not like it's difficult to take control of the Crossroads demons, they don't care who signs their paychecks, as long as they get to keep making deals."

Crowley bared his teeth, feeling the rage he had felt earlier leaking through him. He'd rip her apart for her insolence, for having the gall to try to take what was his. If Xaphan stood in his way, he'd gut him as well, overpowered angel or not. "What have you done?"

"Hell's mine now, Crowley!" she declared, spreading her arms. "Don't tell me that you haven't felt it? Felt your connection break?" He glowered at her, remaining silent. She laughed. "What, you thought that was just a side effect of being cured? Which apparently the Winchesters did a pretty crap job of doing..."

"How?" was all he could think to ask. How was this even possible? How could he lose control so quickly?

Abaddon smirked. "After Sam gave me a holy fire shower, I came here and killed every demon you had guarding the throne. Just as I was about to take my place, well... when the angels fell, Xaphan's first stop was the Black Throne... and I made myself a little deal. Together, we took over Hell. We split the power of the damned souls in half, and now Xaphan here is running on archangel levels. You didn't come back, Crowley! I sat on the throne and declared myself queen, and you didn't do a damn thing... and now Hell belongs to me. I can feel it, _you_ can feel it."

"Why do this? What are you planning?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Xaphan asked, staring at him intently. "We plan to take over the Earth, and annihilate any angel, human... or demon that stands in our way."

"Oh, _especially_ the demons," Abaddon added. "We've been having a ball slaughtering every one of your supporters that didn't immediately defect to our side." She smirked. "There weren't many."

Crowley eyes widened. No, no, he couldn't have lost Hell. It had only been five days, for sin's sake! And now they were waging a world war? No, he couldn't let this happen. He couldn't lose his kingdom, not on top of everything else that had been taken to from him. He would not allow it. "Well, then," Crowley growled. "Consider this a formal challenge to the throne." It was a foolish move, but if there was one thing he didn't like, it was when his authority was challenged.

Without a moment's hesitation, he called forth both his angel blade and the angel gun that he'd fashioned. They dropped from his sleeves into his hands. Xaphan moved forward startlingly fast, and Crowley barely had time to bring up his sword to block Xaphan's strike. The fallen angel pushed into him so hard that he was thrust backwards, his shoes wearing grooves into the hard stone of the cavern floor.

He felt Abaddon's presence behind him, and he was forced to drop to the ground to avoid a cut from her sword, which he quickly identified as an angel blade. He wasn't able to completely to avoid it, and it bit into the meat of his shoulder. Did everyone have one of those, nowadays? He aimed his gun and took a shot at Abaddon's kneecap, and she went down, letting out a shrill cry. He weaved around Xaphan and made to go for the angel's throat with his sword, but he found himself being flung backwards.

Flung backwards into the volcanic lake, that is. Not good. He hit the cavern floor hard, skidding across it like a stone skipping across water. He lost his grip on his pistol, and it slid off of the cliff. He summoned it back into his pocket with a thought before it was incinerated. He barely managed to dig his fingers into the cliff edge to avoid going down into the lava. He scrambled up, but he looked up and saw that Xaphan was already above him, ready to make sure that he died right.

He promptly stabbed his angel blade into Xaphan's foot, twisting just for the hell of it. The angel jerked backwards, a growl in his throat. Crowley scrambled up the ledge, lunging with his blade again. Xaphan easily blocked his strike. Abaddon was back up now, and she sent a jet of black flame shooting towards him. Ah, lovely. Taking over Hell had given her an extra boost.

He dodged, but not without the sleeve of his suit getting incinerated and the surface of his vessel's skin bubbling and blistering unpleasantly. "Give it up, Crowley!" Abaddon jeered, appearing directly in front of him. Her hands went to his throat, her blade sheathed at her side. He tried to move out of the way, but her fingers latched on, her crimson fingernails digging into his neck. "You're just some piss ant demon, now, and _I am your Queen_."

"You're not my anything," he choked out, barely able to speak. She threw him to ground, straddling him. She withdrew her angel blade. "And you should work on the charmingly psychotic routine. I've got it down much better than you."

Her sword whirled down towards his neck. It sank into stone as he teleported, just barely missing the chance to bite into his throat.

* * *

Dean blinked lazily as he came out of a deep sleep. He yawned loudly as he lifted his head to look at the clock. He'd set his alarm for eleven, and it was ten forty five. He'd woken up early, for once. He let his head thump back down, considering going back to sleep and enjoying his last fifteen minutes. Before he could decide, however, he noticed something.

He could hear and feel Castiel's breath _very_ close to his ear. _Whoa. Now wait just a damn minute._ Cas was turned on his side, his cheek pressed to Dean's shoulder, and his right hand gripping at the fabric of Dean's t-shirt. His eyes were tightly closed, and his mouth hung open slightly. The ex-angel was in a deep sleep.

Okay, so sharing a bed with Cas hadn't been bad thus far. His friend didn't move much in his sleep, he didn't steal the covers, and he didn't push Dean off of the bed, so that was already better than ninety percent of the chicks he'd slept next to, and Sammy. He'd made sure that Crowley, Sam, and Kevin weren't aware of where Cas was sleeping, but he wasn't ashamed of it, or anything. Cas was his friend. He didn't want him to have nightmares. He also didn't want people to _assume_ things. It's not like they were doing anything other than bunking together.

This, though. This was a little much for him. Cas was cuddled up to his side, and it felt oddly nice to have someone so close. It had been a long time since anyone had really been in his personal space. He'd built his walls up thicker since returning from Purgatory, and this was the first time that someone had been allowed past them.

Half of him wanted to push Cas away with a mutter of, "Too gay, man," but another half just wanted to lay back and close his eyes and pretend to be asleep so he could enjoy the next fifteen minutes before the alarm went off.

He decided to go with the latter option. He resisted the urge to lean his cheek against the top of Cas's head (and where the hell did _that_ come from) and let his eyes fall closed, breathing deeply.

"Out loud and proud, then?"

Dean's eyes snapped open and he bolted up in bed, causing Cas's head to slip from his shoulder and hit the mattress. The ex-angel made a sleepy sound of protest, tightening his grip on Dean's shirt sleeve. Crowley stood by the door, a large gray and white cat cradled in his arms, looking at Dean with one lecherous eyebrow raised. Dean noticed that most of the left sleeve of Crowley's suit appeared to have been burnt off, and there was a second degree burn running along the length of his arm. The right shoulder of his suit was severed, and blood stained the fine material.

Dean threw his legs over the side of his bed and rose, immediately going on alert. "Okay, one, this is _so_ not what it looks like." He gestured to Crowley's ragged appearance. "And two, what the hell happened to you?"

"Hell's about right," Crowley growled, his smirk dropping. He carefully set the cat down on the floor, and it meowed softly before happily weaving its way through Crowley's legs, nudging the demon's foot with its nose. "We've got bit of a problem."

"We?" Dean echoed, watching the cat warily. He wasn't allergic, per se, but cats still made him sneeze.

"Xaphan's teamed up with dear old Abaddon to take over Hell and wage war against the angels," he told him, eyes darkening. "They've usurped me. The damned souls are under their control, now. That's what's giving Xaphan the extra boost."

Dean's mouth fell open in spite of himself. He blinked several times before gathering himself. He sank back down onto the edge of the bed. "Tell me everything."

And so he did. Crowley gave him a blow by blow of what had transpired at his now destroyed mansion and the fight that had occurred down in Hell. By the time the demon finished, Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

"So, we've got to kill an evil archangel and the Queen of Hell, or they'll slaughter all of the angels and take over the world," Dean muttered, running a hand absent-mindedly through his hair.

"Again," Crowley added. "It's the Apocalypse, redux."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said softly.

He was surprised to feel a strong sense of defeat. They barely managed to stop Armageddon last time, and they'd been in a much better position then. What did they have now? An angel who wasn't an angel (and apparently a very heavy sleeper), a usurped demon king struggling to deal with his newfound desire to not kill everyone in sight, an angsty prophet with a dead family, and a little brother who could barely walk on his own. Oh, and on top of all of that, Bobby had been dead for over two years and wasn't around to pull their asses out of the fire.

He'd been in some pretty shitty situations in his lifetime. He'd been in some hopeless, dark places. There had been a lot of times where'd been in holes so deep he was sure he'd never be able to crawl out of them. But this... this was a whole new level of bad. He looked down at his sleeping friend, and he realized that this time around, there was no angel of the Lord to save the day. There was just Cas.

Their only hope was the trials, and well, look how awesome that turned out last time. He shook his head, trying to think, trying to come up with the next step.

"We still need to find Gabriel," Crowley spoke after a moment of silence. "Priority number one. You'll be a limp rag until baby brother's fixed." Dean furrowed his brow, not sure that he understood what Crowley was getting at. "It's us against the world, darling. You, me, him-" He gestured to Cas. "Moose, and the cutest little prophet. We all need to be in fighting shape if we're going to take on, well... demons and angels and every other bloody thing that's bound to come at us."

Dean nodded. He was right. Once Sam was better, once he didn't have to worry about his brother keeling over on them, then they'd fight. Once they had Gabriel, then they would actually stand a chance against Xaphan and Abaddon.

"So." Dean looked up Crowley, narrowing his eyes at the demon. "I guess we're on the same side, now."

Crowley gave him a mirthless smirk. "Suppose we are. If you'll have me, that is."

"Beggars can't be choosers. And as long as you keep being good to Sammy..." God, he didn't like this. He didn't trust Crowley. He didn't care what ratio of human or demon he was, he didn't care that he was stuck in their boat now, _he didn't care_. Crowley had screwed them over quite a few times, but his recent actions were what really changed everything, what made his actions truly unforgivable.

Crowley had crossed a line last week when he'd started killing everyone they'd ever saved. Their deaths hit he and Sam hard. Crowley was right, the people that they saved, it was the only thing that let him and his brother sleep at night. It was their purpose in life, what they lived for, and on most days, it was the only thing that made him feel like he and Sam were even the good guys at all. When Crowley tried to rip that apart, he pushed it too far. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to forgive or even remotely trust the demon, no matter how Crowley changed or what happened... he would never be able to forget what he did.

"I'll look after your brother," Crowley replied. For one of the first times since meeting the demon, there was sincerity in his tone. Maybe even a bit of sorrow. No malice, no snark, no anger. He was being genuine. Dean didn't like the idea of anyone looking out for Sam but him, but with how quickly his brother was degenerating, he needed all hands on deck.

Before Dean had a chance to respond, there was a thump next to him. The cat Crowley had brought to the bunker meowed at him before jumping over his legs and making a beeline for Castiel. "What's with the cat, anyway? Don't animals hate demons?"

"Generally, yeah," Crowley responded. "Cats sometimes warm up to us though. Wolves and bats, too. Typical familiars. I'm no witch, but Aziraphale took a liking to me, so I kept him."

"Aziraphale? The hell kind of name is that?"

"What? It rolls off the tongue."

The cat promptly clambered onto Cas's chest and plopped down, purring loudly. Dean and Crowley both smirked at the sight. The ex-angel looked peaceful when he was asleep. It was the only time that his brows weren't bent, his gaze distant. Even though Cas hadn't come right out and said it, it was easy to see that he felt lost... he felt useless and small. At least when he was asleep, he could still fly. He could save everyone. He wondered if Cas still had a halo hanging over his head in his dreams.

"Did you roofie him? Why is he still asleep?" Crowley inquired, strolling to stand over the side of the bed that Cas was on. Dean tensed, not liking Crowley so close to his defenseless friend. Dean decided it was high time to wake Cas up.

"I guess he's just making up for lost time," he replied, putting a hand on Cas' shoulder and shaking him. He'd learned from the past few days that he had to shake him hard to even get his eyelids to flutter. The first time, Cas didn't respond, so Dean had to continue shaking him. Aziraphale didn't seem pleased. "Cas! Come on, rise and shine."

Finally, Castiel's eyelids peeled open. Lazily, the blue orbs took in Crowley's damaged suit, Dean's look of hopelessness, and the large cat sitting on his chest. There was a brief silence before the ex-angel spoke. "I am confused."

Crowley snorted, and Dean shook his head.

"Get up, Kitten. More bad news is on the menu for breakfast."

* * *

Dean made breakfast for the inhabitants of the Men of Letters bunker as Crowley explained what had happened with Abaddon to Sam, Castiel, and Kevin. As he stirred the hash browns, paying close attention to a cook book that he'd purchased a few weeks ago (it's not like he had much experience in the kitchen) he listened with one ear to Crowley's subdued reiteration of the morning's events.

By the time the demon finished, everyone had a plate of hash browns and eggs in front of them. Bobby had once told him that food softened the sting of bad news. He hoped that held true here, because Sam, Kevin, and Castiel were all wearing matching expressions of horror.

"The angels fell on Saturday night, it's only Wednesday. How did Xaphan strike up an alliance with Abaddon, then massacre enough of your supporters to take over Hell and form an army in that amount of time?" Sam asked, breathless by the time he finished his question. His little brother was looking even worse than he had the day before, which was saying a hell of a lot considering how crappy his previous state had been.

"Xaphan is a strategist," Castiel said, warming his hands on the cup of coffee Dean had made for him. He still didn't know why the ex-angel liked coffee so damn much. "He has been in the angel prison for thousands of years, ever since Lucifer fell and they attempted to burn Heaven together. He's the forgotten conspirator... he's had a long time to think. With a mind like his, he's probably had this plan worked out for centuries, if not longer. It doesn't surprise me that he was able to put everything in motion this quickly."

"You ever meet the guy?" Dean asked, taking a seat between Cas and Sam.

"Once, and only briefly," Castiel replied, his expression growing dark. "When I was recalled to Heaven, shortly before Sam killed Lilith and broke the final seal, I ran across him."

"You were in the angel joint, right?"

"Yes," Cas said. "I passed his cell while I was there, escorted by a battalion of guards, of course. When he saw me, his eyes lit up for a moment, and he..." Cas trailed off, seeming to suppress a shiver.

"I'm detecting some bad memories," Crowley commented from where he leaned against the counter. "Drop the soap while dear old Xaphan was around?"

Castiel, thankfully, didn't seem to grasp what Crowley had said. Cas shook his head. "No. When he saw me, he just laughed." He paused for a moment. "He laughed, and he said, 'This one will fall, just as Lucifer fell.'"

The kitchen went silent.


	16. Misery Loves My Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas learns how to use a computer and Sam pukes a lot.

"Well," Dean said between bites of his breakfast. "That's... kinda creepy."

Castiel nodded, not relishing the memory. Xaphan had the same aura that Lucifer did, one of great power and great corruption. "That's the only interaction I've ever had with him. But, the point is, he is not to be underestimated."

"An evil villain seeking world domination," Crowley drawled. "It's not as if you haven't faced one before."

Kevin let out a harsh laugh, the first noise they'd heard from the young man since he'd sat down. "A few people come to mind."

Crowley gave Kevin a withering look. "I think you're confusing me with Lucifer. I never wanted the Earth, never wanted Heaven either. I only wanted home sweet Hell to stay just as it was."

"And it didn't matter who you had to kill to get what you wanted," Kevin said. His dark eyes flicked between Sam and Dean. "So, what, he's our ally now? Just like that?"

"We don't exactly have many options right now, Kev," Dean said, though the older Winchester seemed just as disgruntled as the prophet at Crowley's presence. Castiel was put off by the idea of Crowley joining them on their quest to stop Xaphan, but he saw the logic in it. They were running very short on power right now. Crowley, even dethroned, was more powerful than the rest of them put together.

"Killing him seems like a pretty good option!" Kevin said, glaring directly at Crowley. The demon narrowed his eyes at the teenager, but said nothing.

"As long as he stays loyal to us, we've got no logical reason to kill him," Sam said, his voice gentle. "Kevin, what happened to your mom, what happened to your girlfriend, it's terrible. What he did, it's unforgivable. I get that... but sometimes you have to sacrifice what makes you uncomfortable so you can do the right thing."

"In what screwed up world is this the right thing!?" Kevin exclaimed.

" _This_ screwed up world," Crowley stated. "And if you lot decide to tie a noose around my neck, it's only going to get more screwed up." Crowley tilted his head up slightly. "I know that nothing I say or do will make you hate me any less, but the fact of the matter is, I'm invested - presently. Means I'm on your side."

"For now," Kevin growled in response. "You'll turn on us."

Crowley had no witty retort this time. "You're wise not to trust me, but there's no trick up my sleeve this time. I've got nothing left. I'm barely half a demon with no kingdom, no title, and no home."

"Nothing's more dangerous than an enemy with nothing left to lose," Kevin argued.

"And there's never a more devoted ally than one who has everything to gain," Crowley countered.

"Enough of the pissing match," Dean interrupted. "None of us are happy about this, but it's what's got to be done."

"You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome," Crowley commented, but Dean ignored him.

"For the time being, this doesn't really change things. We still gotta find Gabriel," Dean said, temporarily quelling the argument between Kevin and Crowley, though Castiel suspected that it wouldn't last for long. Asking the prophet to stay in the same building as the thing that killed everyone he'd ever loved... it was beyond cruel. The necessity of the act did not make it any better. "He's the only one who can take Xaphan out and the only one who can heal Sam."

"What about Joshua?" Sam asked. "He probably knows how to open Xaphan's Cage."

"I'd rather kill the son of a bitch than just chain him down," Dean replied. "Joshua's a back-up plan, for now. We need to keep looking for Gabriel."

Sam nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "Alright. I can call around, see if there's been any Trickster omens lately."

"If you're making calls, then I want you to check in at every hospital in Cleveland." Dean's expression darkened. "We need to find out if Garth's alive or not. You know his aliases?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Do it. Just, don't push it, okay? You need to rest," Dean told his younger brother. Sam sighed, dropping his fork. He'd barely touched his food.

"I'll be fine, Dean."

Dean pursed his lips, concern written in the lines of his face. "I'll keep looking online. Cas, I'll print out more newspapers for you. Kevin, keep working on the tablet - don't over do it - and Crowley... you just..." Dean looked at the demon. "I don't know. Scout or something. I want to know what kind of condition the angels are in."

Crowley arched an eyebrow at him. "Is that an order?"

Dean glared at Crowley, as if daring the demon to challenge him. "You bet your ass it is."

Castiel watched as the two of them faced off, eyes drilling into each other. He only knew one being on Earth who was more stubborn than the King of Hell, and that was Dean Winchester. After a long moment, Crowley nodded stiffly.

"Fine," he said. "If you need me, call." He tilted his head, as if remembering something. "None of you are allergic to cats?" he asked the room at large. Sam and Dean shook their heads. Castiel frowned, not knowing whether he was allergic to cats or not. He hadn't had an adverse reaction when he'd woken up with the feline on his chest, so he figured he wasn't. Kevin's brow furrowed.

"Why does that matter?" he asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Crowley's got a pet cat." As if on cue, there was a meow, and the large gray and white cat ambled into the kitchen, halting by Crowley's foot. Crowley leaned down and patted the creature on its head fondly.

There was a thick silence. "A cat," Sam repeated. "I didn't really peg you as a cat person."

Crowley shrugged, without his usual bravado. "Had to have something to keep me company after you killed my dog."

Sam almost looked guilty. "What's its name?"

"His name's Aziraphale."

Sam's expression turned to one of confusion, and Kevin gaped at him. "Wait a minute, _Good Omens_? Seriously?" the prophet asked.

Crowley smirked. "Who do you think the character Crowley was based off of?"

* * *

The rest of the day passed by without much event. Crowley disappeared to scout the activity of the angels, and Kevin retreated to his room immediately after breakfast had been cleaned up to return to decoding the angel tablet. Sam seated himself on the couch, calling their hunter contacts and drawing up a list of places where possible Trickster omens were sighted. Mostly, he received confusion. None of them understood why he and Dean would care about Tricksters when the angels were walking the Earth, fighting demons, and leaving death and destruction in their wake. He said it was relevant, but chose not to elaborate further.

Meanwhile, Dean searched the internet while Castiel read through newspapers that Dean had printed out for him. Crowley's cat had made himself comfortable on Castiel's lap, seeming to be enjoying the ex-angel's presence if his purring was any indication. Animals had always liked Cas, which Sam assumed was a side effect of being an angel, but apparently even as a human he was still an animal person. Occasionally Cas would reach down and stroke the feline along his spine, and Aziraphale would meow happily.

Sam was struggling to focus through the thick haze in his mind and the constant urge he had to throw up. He dreaded the next attack he was bound to have. Last night's events were an incoherent mess in his mind, with the amount of pain he'd been in, but he remembered someone supporting him as he vomited out everything he had, an almost comforting hand on his back. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to a half-cured Crowley.

He wished there was some way he could time the attacks so he could be more prepared for when they would come. He expected that they would become more frequent as he continued to deteriorate. Each day since returning to the bunker, he felt progressively worse... he constantly sweated from fever, he had trouble walking, and the idea of food just disgusted him. His body did not want to function any longer.

He should've valued all of the quick demises he'd had in the past; a slow death was torturous.

Sam eventually broke around three and retreated to the bathroom to say goodbye to the small amount of hash browns he'd managed to eat at breakfast. Thankfully, Dean hadn't seemed to notice.

About halfway through the day Cas had managed to read through the twelve major newspapers Dean had printed out in their entirety. Even as a human, Cas was still a very fast reader, though he couldn't just glance at something and magically know its contents anymore. He had to actually read it. Anyway, Dean decided he would be much more helpful if he could use their spare laptop, so Dean began teaching Castiel the ins and outs of the internet. Basically how to use Google and then the control-alt-delete spiel. Sam made a mental note to pull Cas aside and give him a more in-depth tutorial at some point in the near future.

It was weird to think about all the things that they would have to teach Castiel now that he was human. Cas probably had a genius IQ, but he didn't know how to tie his shoes. He didn't know how to ride a bike or drive a car, how to go grocery shopping, write out checks, do laundry... it was a long list. Sam suppressed a sigh as he thought of this. Teaching Cas how to be human was going to be one hell of a challenge. It's not like he and Dean were even experts at existing, so should they really be passing it on to a newborn human?

After calling around to almost every hospital in the greater Cleveland area, Sam finally got a hit on one of Garth's aliases. He inquired as to his condition, saying that he was Garth's brother. The nurse informed him that he was currently in his third surgery after getting caught in the 'bombing' the day before. His legs and rib cage had been crushed from the blast wave, and he had a severe concussion. However, they said that the chances of him making it out with at least partial use of his legs were very good. He thanked the nurse, told her to let Garth know that he'd called once he was conscious.

_Bombing_... if only. According to Dean, who'd also looked up additional news on Xaphan's attack on Cleveland the day before, it seemed as though the world was starting to suspect that supernatural entities and forces really did exist. With so many disasters happening so quickly after the 'meteor shower' the other night, along with the supposed terrorist attack on Cleveland, conspiracy theories were spreading like wild fire. The Bible beaters were screaming about the apocalypse (a little late on that account) and the government was blaming everything on enemies in the Middle East. In other words, the nation was slowly slipping into hysterics.

This was a whole new level of bad. Even during the apocalypse, when Lucifer was running around, he was keeping it more low-key than Xaphan and Abaddon were. Apparently subtlety just wasn't their style.

When dinner time rolled around, Dean retired to the kitchen to make supper for the four of them while Castiel jabbed his fingers at the keys of Dean's laptop, typing painstakingly slow. His brow was furrowed in a sign of frustrated. He wasn't the only frustrated one. Sam knew that once they found a lead on Gabriel, Dean would force him to stay behind, and what irritated him even further was knowing that he would be useless on a hunt anyway.

_Damn the trials. Damn this illness... just damn everything._

When Dean finished dinner (burgers - his brother didn't know how to make much else) he called Sam, Castiel and Kevin into the kitchen. They ate in relative silence. Sam took a few bites of his burger, but found that he could handle no more. He saw the worry in his brother's eyes, but said nothing. He was sick of lying and saying that he felt alright. He was sick of pretending.

Towards the end of their meal, Crowley reappeared in the kitchen, hands in his trouser pockets and looking rather the worse for wear. Dean merely looked up with pursed lips and asked, "Well?"

"They've got all of their powers still," Crowley said, skipping any illusion of a greeting. "Weaker, granted, but still there. Their wings are gone, as you already know, but they can still teleport."

"How can they do that without their wings?" Dean asked. Crowley disappeared, and a second later he was behind Dean, bending over so his mouth was near the hunter's ear.

"I don't need wings, why would angels?" he asked, and Dean jerked, tossing a dirty look at Crowley. The demon merely smirked, retreating to lean against the doorway, arms crossed.

"Aside from that, I didn't discover much. They can still see demons, and even when I'm invisible I've got Hell-stink on me. I had to observe from a distance. As near as I can tell, they're setting up shop. Safe houses near where any devil's gates have opened up, so they can fight off the demons who crawl out before they can migrate," Crowley explained.

"Does it look like there's gonna be another big fight soon?" Dean asked. Crowley pursed his lips.

"Tampa," he said. "One of the biggest devil's gates opened there. I'd say about six hundred demons made it out, and the angel base their building up there's got two hundred, maximum. There's been small skirmishes so far but I'd say it'll come to a head quickly enough."

Dean shook his head with a heavy sigh. "Last thing we need is another Cleveland."

"I stopped by there. Five blocks of the city is a smoking crater. I don't see how anything could've lived through it." The demon frowned deeply. "Looked like bloody Hiroshima."

Sam held back a sigh. To summarize, bad, bad, and more bad. He went to open his mouth to speak, but his stomach protested the action, and he had to bite down hard on his bottom lip as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. Clambering out of his chair, he sprinted to the bathroom, barely making it in time to heave into the toilet. He heard a muffled curse from Dean several rooms over.

An indeterminable amount of time passed before he sagged against the toilet, the meager contents of his stomach now gone. He cradled his abdomen, groaning in anguish. Dean's hand was on his back, and he felt himself being pulled up, though he didn't really know by who. He felt hot, so ridiculously hot, like he was melting from the inside out. It wasn't as strong and sudden as his attacks, but it was still absolute hell.

"Come on, Sammy. We're gonna get you back to your room."

He just nodded, because he couldn't form words at the moment. He was half sure that he felt tears slipping down his face, but he couldn't tell. His stomach still burned like anything that went inside would be incinerated. The acid from throwing up scalded his throat, so that was added to the already growing haze of pain.

He closed his eyes, and he couldn't find the will to open them back up. He was conscious, but only by the barest of definitions. Before he knew it, he was back in his bed, and a cold cloth was being pressed to his head, and there was someone sitting on the side of his bed. He was fairly sure that it was Dean. There were hushed voices... what were they saying?

He didn't have the energy to keep his mind alert any longer, so he surrendered with a quiet sigh, allowing the exhaustion to drag him down into sleep. The last thing he felt was a hand brushing the sweat dampened hair out of his face.


	17. Anywhere But Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas gets in touch with his douche-y side, and the boys prepare to find Gabriel.

"I found him," Dean said, voice hoarse from not speaking for hours. "Holy shit, Cas, I think I found him!"

Cas blearily raised his head, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. The ex-angel had fallen asleep about thirty minutes beforehand, his cheek red from where it had been plastered to the surface of the large wooden table in the library. It was late at night, past two in the morning. Dean's eyes had been drooping when he finally found the break they needed, the lead they'd been looking for.

"Him?" Cas repeated, still slightly out of it. "You mean... you..."

"Yeah, yeah! Come look at this," he said, beckoning frantically to where he sat on the other side of the table. Cas obediently rose from his chair, scattering a few newspapers to the side as he clumsily stood. He stretched before making his way to Dean, leaning over the hunter in order to get a better look at the laptop screen in front of him.

"Murders," Cas said, his eyes scanning the words quickly. "Three of them, unexplained, all in Greenville, North Carolina. How did they die?"

"First was a politician, rich guy, city councilman. Guy got his Johnson sucked into a pool filter, because someone 'accidentally' turned it on," Dean said, summarizing what he'd read.

Cas's brow furrowed. "What is a Johnson?" Dean winced. He really needed to explain the concept of euphemisms to his friend.

"His downstairs. Nether regions. Dick," Dean rattled off, hoping that Cas would understand at least one of the words. "Point is, seems a weird way to go, right? He bled to death in his pool with his friggin' _junk_ ripped off. Then, one day later, there's another death. Town police chief. Somehow managed to choke on a wad of fifty dollar bills, all on his own."

"This does sound like Gabriel..."

"It gets better. Next up is a high school football coach, and somehow, every muscle in his body simultaneously exploded," Dean said, looking up at Castiel. "These are weird deaths, weirder than weird. I bet if we look into it, we're going to find out that they're not just freaky, but karmic too."

Cas's mouth twitched in an almost-smile. "This is my brother," he whispered. "I can feel it." He looked to Dean, blue eyes sparkling in the dim light. He'd never really thought about it before, but Cas's eyes, hell.. they were kind of nice.

 _Why am I even thinking about this?_ Dean shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "This has got Gabriel written all over it," he agreed.

"When do we leave for Greenville?" Cas asked, almost seeming excited.

"We," Dean repeated, his mind stalling on Castiel's words. "Uh, right... about that." The ex-angel's forehead scrunched in confusion, creating three thick lines. He waited silently for Dean to continue. "Listen, Cas, over the past week, you've been doing good. Great. You're picking up guns pretty well, you're good with research, but... I'm just not sure you're ready for the field yet, man."

Castiel leaned away from Dean, straightening to his full height. Dean could see the offense he'd caused, but he was just being honest. Okay, sort of honest. He knew that Cas would probably handle himself alright out in the field, especially in a case where they were dealing with an angel, but... Cas was human now. He couldn't just magically heal himself. He couldn't disappear and reappear to avoid danger. To be blunt, Cas could die now, and that was the last thing that Dean wanted. Shit, he couldn't even imagine losing Cas. Actually, yeah, he could, he had to go through it before... he wasn't itching for a repeat performance.

"You can't go alone," Cas said stiffly.

Well, he _could_ , but it wasn't a good idea by any stretch of the imagination, especially when they didn't know if the angels wanted their heads on spikes or not. "Well, I figure... I could probably drag Crowley along, since you'd be here to keep an eye on Sammy..."

"You would trust Crowley to accompany you, but not me?" Cas asked, hurt evident in his voice.

Dean sighed, averting his eyes and running a hand through his hair. It was sticking up at odd angles from lack of care - he couldn't remember the last time he'd showered. For the past two days, all he and Cas had done was search for signs of Gabriel. Sammy had barely been conscious since his attack at dinner the other night, and Kevin had absorbed himself in the tablet as per usual. They probably would've forgotten to eat if Crowley hadn't periodically brought them meals.

"It's not about trust, Cas. You _know_ I don't trust him. It's just... Crowley's expendable. You're not," he told the former angel, lowering his voice.

Cas was silent for a long moment. When a solid minute had passed without a word said, Dean grew concerned. He turned in his chair to look at the ex-angel, and was met with Cas's turned back and hunched shoulders. His hands were balled up into fists at his sides.

"Cas?" he questioned, rising from his chair hesitantly.

"I have lived a thousand lifetimes," Cas whispered, the gravel of his voice like solid steel. "I have seen the rise and fall of every human empire, I've watched those with nothing rise and become kings, and those with everything in their hands fall to their knees like beggars. I had the power to change the course of history, the power to alter the world to my pleasing. I led a siege on Hell, and from it I raised the Righteous Man. I fell from Heaven, I became an outlaw, and I helped stop the end of the world. I was the one who broke open Purgatory. And, for a brief time, I was _God_." Castiel shook his head, a heavy and irritated sigh escaping him. "This... is not how things should be."

"Well, it's how things are," Dean responded, annoyed by Castiel's less-than-stellar attitude. "Whether you like it or not."

"I am weak!" Cas burst out, turning on Dean, blue eyes bright with rage. "Compared to what I was, I am nothing! _Nothing_!" Castiel's voice echoed in the library, almost seeming to shake the ground. "I used to be able to burn out demons by merely revealing what I truly was, I could burst eardrums with my voice, blind with my radiance! And now this, reduced to a shell, an abomination of Graceless angelic essence trapped in an empty, broken vessel," he spat out the words like they were poison.

Dean was surprised. It was one of the first times since losing his Grace that Cas had spoken with sincerity about how he was feeling. Dean probably should've been happy that he was being honest, but instead he found himself irritated at how imperious the ex-angel was acting - it was bringing back unpleasant memories of a very different Cas.

When Dean said nothing in response, Castiel's hands launched out and gripped the front of his shirt, his fingers digging in painfully. Dean did nothing to stop him. "What? Nothing to say to that? You can't argue with me because you know that it's the truth."

"No," Dean replied in a monotone. "Guess I just got caught up in the flashbacks." Cas's eyes narrowed, not seeming to follow him. "You're really reminding me of someone, actually. A douche bag I met back in '08 who threatened to throw me back into Hell if I didn't show him the _respect_ he deserved."

Cas stared at him for a moment, mouth hanging open slightly. He closed his eyes for an instant before releasing Dean, backing away with a shake of his head and a grimace. "You can't understand what this feels like, Dean."

"No, you're right, I can't," Dean agreed. "But I hate to break it to you, but you can't think about what you were. You can't focus on that. You need to come to terms with what you are now, and accept it. It's all you can do."

"Accept this?" Castiel barked out a humorless laugh, gesturing down at himself. " _This?_ You said it yourself, Dean! Without my powers, I'm just a - what was it? - a baby in a trench coat? Yes, I believe that's it." Dean balked, surprised that Cas remembered his words from so many years ago.

"When I said that-"

"What? What, Dean? You didn't care that I was broken? No, you never did, did you?" he asked, and he'd never heard such an edge in Cas's voice before, never seen him so blatantly angry. Cas was nothing if not even-tempered. A knife buried itself in Dean's chest, twisting with each word that the ex-angel spoke. Cas gritted his teeth, looking away from Dean. "Oh, I _wish_ you were as callous now. I am broken, but I can't stay here. I can't stay here and do nothing, sit in silence while my charge walks into a world at war."

"Cas-"

"Yes, I'm aware that you haven't been my charge in a long time," Cas cut across him. "But I still consider you my responsibility. I still consider it my duty to protect you. So, yes, perhaps I'll die if I leave the bunker, but I'd rather die than be confined here."

Dean's jaw dropped. "How the hell can you even say that?"

"Because otherwise this existence will _be_ Hell," he replied without missing a beat, leaning against the wall of the library. "If I cannot even serve the original purpose I took this vessel for, then..." He gripped the sides of his head, sliding down to the floor. He was shaking. "Then what purpose do I have? Without my powers, why am I even here?"

"Alright, alright," Dean said, grabbing Cas by his shoulders and forcibly hauling him up. When Cas was standing again, Dean slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with his hands. Cas's eyes widened in surprise. "Listen to me, wallowing in your own self-pity? Wishing you were dead? I've been there, Cas! It ain't gonna fix anything! Not one damn thing! I've never had powers, I'm just an ordinary Joe Shmoe, and not to toot my own horn, but I've pulled off some pretty tall orders."

"Powers or not, you have never been ordinary," Cas said weakly.

"And _you've_ never been ordinary," Dean told him. "And you never will be. Powers or not, you're still an angel of the friggin' Lord! You're still the big, badass angel! You're just in smaller packaging." He released Cas, backing away. He sighed when he realized that he'd pretty much just argued against his reasons for keeping Cas benched.

"If I am the big, badass angel," Cas said, straightening his button-down with a disgruntled expression. "Then why keep me here?"

Why indeed. Dean pursed his lips. Cas needed this. He needed to feel useful. The idea of putting Cas in danger, the idea of losing him, it sickened him down to his last fiber, but he couldn't in good conscience force the ex-angel to stay behind. Plus, he'd sure as hell rather have Castiel along for the ride than Crowley. The only thing keeping him from slitting the demon king's throat was his perplexingly caring treatment of his little brother.

"Fine, Cas," he said, relenting. "You can come. We'll do this together."

Cas blinked slowly. "You are only doing this to appease me."

"No." Dean shook his head. "I'm doing it because you need to know that you're worth something. That your _life_ is worth something. If knowing that it's worth something to Sam and me isn't enough, then maybe this is just what you need." He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Just, don't die on me, okay? Just _don't_."

"I can't make that promise," Cas said, and his expression finally softened, returning more to the Cas that he knew. "You know that."

"I know, man, just..." he trailed off, and he found that he couldn't find the proper way to finish his sentence. He decided to let it drop. "We're gonna need to leave early tomorrow. We should head to bed after I print all this crap out."

Castiel nodded in agreement. "Alright," he murmured. "I will, uh, be waiting for you, I suppose." It almost seemed to be a question. Every night in the bunker so far, Cas had slept next to Dean. Dean didn't have any intentions of changing that tonight, even in the aftermath of their fight.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Get changed, brush your teeth. I'll be there soon." He'd made a habit of reminding Cas to do the little things, the human things that he was still adjusting to and often forgot about. "And pee! God, please don't forget to _pee_ , not after last night."

"I'll make sure to relieve myself before I lay down," Cas promised quickly before making his way to the door that led back into the foyer. In the threshold, he paused, his back still to him. "Dean..."

"Mmm?" he grunted.

"The 'douche bag' who raised you from Hell," he said carefully. "Did you hate him?"

Dean was caught off-guard by the question. "Hate's a strong word," he said. He selected his next words carefully. "But, I think that the human he turned out to be is worth a hundred of him. No doubt about it."

There was silence, and Dean didn't turn around. Soon, he heard the pitter-patter of footsteps echoing in the distance, and the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing softly.

When he laid down to sleep that night, Cas was already fast asleep. Dean stretched out next to the ex-angel and watched him for a moment, reveling in the rare peace on his friend's face and wishing desperately that Cas would look like that when he was awake.

* * *

The next day, Sam, Crowley, and Dean were gathered in the foyer as Dean waited for Cas to finish packing. It was just past ten. Dean wanted to leave as early as possible.

"How long do you... do you think you'll be gone?" Sam asked faintly from the couch, shifting as much as he could without disorienting himself. Even the slightest movement nowadays made the world spin, made him want to hunch over and spill the meager amount of food he was able to get down. He'd been getting steadily worse since Sunday. His move to the foyer from his bedroom was the first time he'd gone farther than the bathroom in two days.

Crowley sat on the arm of the couch, watching him carefully, making sure that he wasn't currently in need of assistance. Crowley had barely left his side since they'd made the decision to allow the demon to stay at the bunker. Between his brother and the King of Hell, he was practically waited on hand and foot. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were made for him. He always seemed to have an ice pack on his head. Crowley had begun popping into human hospitals, nabbing meds, and bringing them back to try on Sam. He'd devised a cocktail, after some experimentation, that at the very least allowed Sam to eat enough to survive.

He'd decided not to question Crowley's surprisingly good bedside manner. He could tell that it wasn't something the demon was keen on talking about. He didn't express his gratitude to the demon, even though he felt it, because he knew that Crowley would just resent him for it. The usurped king was not adjusting well to the ins and outs of humanity, and when anyone pointed out the fact that the demon was being helpful and bordering on compassionate, he looked like he was about to throw up. So, for Crowley's sake, Sam chose to keep his comments to himself.

Dean slammed his suitcase shut after checking it a final time. "Ah, shit, I don't know. Greenville is a two day drive from here. With three murders, questioning will probably take a solid day or two... then it's anyone's guess how long it takes us to find Gabriel." Dean sighed. "I don't know, Sammy. I don't know. We'll hurry, that's about all I can say for it."

"It's okay," Sam said. "Take your time, do what you need to do to find him. I can hold out as long as you need me to," he assured his brother. He didn't want Dean to be distracted on this hunt; he needed his head in the game to track down Gabriel.

"You say that as if you have a choice in the matter," Crowley commented quietly.

"I do," Sam affirmed. "I'm not giving up that easily."

"Hoping real hard isn't a cure for any disease I know of," Crowley retorted, eyeing Sam seriously. Sam rolled his eyes.

 _"Mom, much?"_ he thought loudly enough for the demon to hear. With the amount of free time he'd had over the past two days, being scarcely able to move, he'd sharpened his one-way communication with Crowley. He could now make sure that certain thoughts were heard by the demon, though he was having trouble hiding certain thoughts as well. His privacy was quickly becoming a thing of the past. Also, for some reason, Sam still couldn't hear Crowley's thoughts, which he found unfair.

Crowley swatted him on the back of his head for the comment. _"Bastard,"_ Sam thought, though his mental curse lacked any venom.

"I hate to say it Sam, but he's right," Dean said heavily, glancing towards the corridor. Sam could hear footsteps. Cas was done packing, apparently. "This is on me to get you better. This ain't your fault, it's mine." Before Sam had a chance to respond, he lost Dean's attention, as his brother's eyes turned towards Cas, who was standing with a duffel bag over his shoulder.

"I'm ready to leave."

"Do you have everything?" Dean asked, and Sam was fairly sure his brother's tone was straying into patronizing territory. Castiel seemed to notice this as well.

"Yes, Dean."

"Sawed-off?"

"Yes."

"Handgun?"

"Yes."

"Extra ammo?"

"Yes, I have everything that-"

"Angel blade? Anti-possession necklace? Holy water? Holy oil?"

" _Dean_ ," Cas snapped, exasperated. "I packed everything that was on the list. I am not a child."

Dean pursed his lips before nodding. "Alright, just checking. This is your first hunt as a human, man. I'm just being thorough."

"Someone's getting a little anal, eh?" Crowley piped up. "With _all_ possible entendres intended."

Dean's jaw tensed, but he didn't respond to Crowley's jab. Sam noticed Crowley had been laying it on a bit thick with the gay jokes of late. _"Lay off of him, Crowley. He's not in the mood right now."_

Crowley merely arched an eyebrow at Sam in response, not that he could've done much else. Cas bit the inside of his lip, tightening his grip on the duffel bag strap. "Shall we, then?"

"Yeah, okay." Dean looked at Sam. "I'll call everyday, alright? And one of you better pick up the damn phone, or I'll drive straight back here."

"It's not like we've got anywhere to be," Crowley said.

"We'll pick up, Dean," Sam promised before a coughing fit racked him. He coughed into his sleeve, and he felt hot blood moisten his lips. Dean made to move forward, but Crowley waved him off.

"Go! Go find Gabriel's feathery ass and drag him back here."

There was a pause before Dean spoke. "Stay strong, Sam. I'm gonna fix this." Dean turned on his heel and headed up the stairs, Cas close behind him.

Sam's fit subsided enough for him to speak. "Good luck," he called hoarsely. "And stay safe, both of you!"

He was answered only by the resounding slam of the bunker door.


	18. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas and Dean hit the road, and Crowley and Sam play doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics to The Struggle Within belong to Metallica.

Castiel liked riding in the car. He enjoyed Dean's music for the most part, and the scenery they passed by was unfailingly interesting. Cities, forests, valleys, hills, lakes and rivers. The Earth, even after the humans had urbanized much of it, was still a fine and beautiful thing. The Impala was pleasantly cool, Dean hummed or sang along with the songs he played, and in general it gave Castiel time to think.

He was about to go on his first hunt as a human, and their quarry was no simple specter or demon. It was the last living archangel - if this was indeed Gabriel and he was actually alive. Cas certainly hoped so. Gabriel's sacrifice during the apocalypse had been a noble one, one that Castiel still respected. In spite of his trickery and petty games, Gabriel had a good heart, and in the end, he'd chosen humanity over siding with one of his brothers.

Dean said that the trip to Greenville would take about twenty-one hours. They would stop in Knoxville, Tennessee and stay the night at the first cheap motel they could find. Dean said it wouldn't be wise to drive straight through, because it would leave him tired and not at his best. The next day they would complete the last six hours of their journey to Greenville, check into a motel, and begin their investigation, interviewing families of the victims and searching the scenes for signs of Gabriel.

" _Reaching out for something you've got to feel, while clutching to what you thought was real_ ," Dean sang quietly, bobbing his head with the music. They were well out of Kansas by now, about two hours into their journey. Neither of them had said much thus far. _"Kicking at a dead horse pleases you, no way of showing your gratitude."_

"Dean?" Cas said quietly, breaking the hunter out of his reverie.

 _"So many things you don't want to do-_ yeah, what is it?"

"I think we need to discuss what we will do if we can't find Gabriel," Cas said, breaching the subject carefully. He'd meant to bring it up over the past few days, but Dean's temper had been erratic while they'd been researching at the bunker, concern for his brother mixed with anxiety over their lack of progress. Now, however, he seemed to be in higher spirits.

Dean gave him a sharp look. "Don't talk like that, Cas. We're gonna find him."

"That is not a guarantee, though I hope we succeed. We need to talk about other... alternatives that may help Sam."

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Say demon blood and I swear to God, I will stop this car in the middle of the damn highway."

Castiel suppressed a sigh. Well, this was going about as well as he expected. "We must have a... back-up plan, yes? It wouldn't be wise to rely solely on one option."

"There's back-up plans, Cas, and then there's last resorts. Our back-up plans got to be something a hell of a lot better than putting my brother back on bitch blood," Dean said, staring resolutely at the dotted yellow line of the road, jaw set in a hard, stubborn line.

"Dean, I'm just trying to-"

"This conversation's over," Dean cut across him, tone leaving no room for argument.

Stifling a sigh, Castiel leaned his head against the cool glass of the passenger side window. Perhaps he had miscalculated. Now was apparently not a good time to bring this up to Dean. He could only hope that he wouldn't need to attempt the discussion again. The need to find Gabriel was becoming more and more crucial by the hour, because in all reality... he really was there only hope.

_"Reaching out, grabbing for something you've got to feel. Closing in, the pressure upon you is so unreal."_

* * *

"104," Crowley read the thermometer in a monotone, lips pursing in a deep frown. "Any higher and your brain's going to overheat."

Sam sniffled from underneath the covers. "I... I feel like it already has. Everything's fuzzy... I can hardly think."

"Well, at least that's something to be grateful for. The less you think, the less I have to hear," Crowley replied, setting the thermometer on the bedside table, concern itching away at him. Damn Winchester was turning him soft. "I'm going to have to start giving you ice baths."

 _"The fact that he didn't say that in a sexual way worries me more than it should,"_ Sam thought, and Crowley heard it, whether the hunter had meant him to or not.

"There you go, thinking again. Just _stop it_ , will you? Your dulcet tones are anything but music to my ears," Crowley snarked, adjusting the ice pack on Sam's forehead. After that, he leaned over to check in the dust bin by Sam's bed. It was half-full of bloodied tissues. He'd emptied it only shortly after Dean and Castiel had left just a few hours beforehand. "You're getting worse. Much worse. How do you even have any blood left?"

"You..." Sam broke off to let out a harsh cough before continuing his sentence. "You really know how... t-to cheer a guy up, C-Crowley."

"Optimism is not one of my many talents."

 _"I noticed."_ Crowley had a feeling that time that Sam just didn't have the energy to talk aloud. _"Please tell me that you're not serious about the ice bath thing..."_

"Well, it's not like I can bring you to a hospital, they'd take one look at you and run screaming from the room," Crowley explained. "If something's not done, however, you're likely to kick off before Squirrel and Kitten can track down our missing archangel. So, yes, ice baths. And more meds. Next time you fall asleep I'll be taking another trip to Lebanon General."

"You can't k-keep stealing medicine. They... they pay attention to that kind of thing, y'know," Sam mumbled, turning slightly with a bark of a cough.

"Yeah, well, they don't really expect a demon to nip in, steal a few syringes, then teleport back out, now do they?" Crowley asked rhetorically. Honestly, of all the things to get concerned over.

Sam sighed, shifting to his side and closing his eyes. "They'll s-start noticing... switch up the hospitals," he said, his voice muffled by his pillow.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Fine."

_"He's agreeing with me without a fight. Jesus, just how bad do I look?"_

"Like you're on death's door," Crowley answered irritably. "Get some damn control over your thoughts, boy."

Sam snorted. "You... you sounded like B-Bobby there for a second."

"I'll take that as an insult," Crowley said, though his voice lacked any real venom. He rummaged around in his pocket for Sam's syringe of stomach medication, a dose that settled his digestive track enough to hold down food. "Flip over, give me your arm. It's time to take your medicine."

Sam, reluctantly, flipped over. "Where... where did you learn to be such a good nurse, huh?"

Ah. The incoherence that came with high fevers. Lovely. He pointedly refused to answer the question, roughly grabbing Sam's arm and turning it so that the main vein of his arm was revealed. Without warning the youngest Winchester, he stuck in the needle and pressed down on the plunger. Sam grunted in pain.

"Have some stones," the demon muttered once the dose was administered. "You're getting it twice a day, try eight shots eight hours in a row," he said, tapping the side of his own neck with a finger.

"Hmm... guess our positions are kind of... kind of switched," Sam mused tiredly, seeming on the brink of passing out as he massaged the marks on his arm. "I tried to cure you, now you're trying to... to cure _me_."

Crowley slipped the syringe back in his pocket, frowning as he turned away from Sam. "I'm not trying to cure you," he replied. "Curing you is Squirrel's job. I'm just trying to keep you alive." Crowley walked out of the room, deciding that he should probably discretely check on Kevin to make sure that the little brat was still alive. He hadn't heard from the prophet in two days, and he hadn't even left his room when Dean and Castiel had departed for Greenville.

"Hey," Sam called just as Crowley reached the threshold. The demon paused. "For what it's worth... thanks, Crowley."

Crowley stood there for a moment, trying to recall the last time someone thanked him and meant it. He couldn't remember.

* * *

Dean collapsed on his bed in the Red Roof Inn, letting out a groan. His muscles were sore from the fifteen hours of sitting in the same position, and it felt oh so good to stretch out his limbs. He and Cas had arrived in Knoxville around one in the morning, and now they were checked in at the first motel they could find that had two open beds. Dean figured that they'd be fine with two beds - from what he understood, Cas just needed someone else in the room and nearby to sleep well. They didn't need to cuddle up while they were on the road.

Cas sank down on his own bed, taking off his shoes without untying them. Damn it, he kept forgetting to teach the angel how to tie his shoes. _Another day,_ he decided as he stripped off his own shoes and socks. "You remember to pack clothes to sleep in?" Dean asked over his shoulder.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel responded with a hint of annoyance. He noticed that he and Cas were starting to get on each other's nerves a bit. It's not that they were tired of each other, but this was the most time they'd ever spent together without interruption since they'd escaped Purgatory. Not to mention being together in the real world and being together in a monster soul prison where you're the soup du jour were pretty different situations. This was the most time he'd spent with Cas when they weren't running for their lives.

"Just asking, man," Dean muttered, holding up his hands in an appeasing gesture. "I'm gonna go change."

"Okay."

Five minutes later, Dean was back on his bed in a pair of comfortable sweat pants and worn Megadeth t-shirt. He flopped down, scrunching a rock-hard motel pillow under his head. He heard the bathroom door open and shut, and by the time Cas came back out, Dean was quickly drifting off to sleep.

"Dean," Cas called his name tiredly. "You need to call Sam."

Dean bolted up, mentally kicking himself in the ass for forgetting. He grabbed his phone from the night stand and hit speed dial one, his brother's number. It rang four times. Voicemail. No answer. He felt instant worry creep into his gut, forming a freezing pool there.

"Sam, it's me. I told you to pick up the damn phone. You better be sleeping. Call me back." He hung up, staring down at the phone with a deep frown.

"Perhaps you should call Crowley," Cas suggested. Dean had given the demon his phone back before he'd departed for his compound a few days earlier. "It's not as if his number is hard to remember."

Dean snorted. "Okay, yeah," he agreed. He punched triple sixes into his cell phone and waited. "I swear, if the little limey mook did something to Sammy, I'll-"

"You'll what, Squirrel?" the demon's familiar gravel erupted over the phone. "Really, tell me. I could use a good bed time story."

"Cut the crap, Crowley. Why isn't Sam picking up his phone?"

"He passed out hours ago," Crowley replied. "That's what sick people _do_."

"I want to talk to him."

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end. "I'll give you the next best thing." A moment of silence passed before Dean heard steady snoring over the other end. He relaxed immediately - that was definitely his little brother. After a moment, the snoring was gone and replaced with Crowley's even breaths. "Satisfied?"

"Not nearly, but I'll take what I can get," he said, carding a hand through his hair as he laid down, phone pinned between his head and shoulder. "How is he?"

"Sick."

"Crowley," Dean warned. He wanted details, damn it. This was Sam they were talking about.

"He's alternating between vomiting and coughing up blood, his fever's getting higher and higher. Even with the stomach medication he can barely keep anything down. He's out of it when he's awake and when he sleeps he tosses and turns like a mad man," Crowley rattled off with little emotion in his voice. Really, the demon just sounded incredibly exhausted.

"He wasn't that bad when we left this morning!" Dean exclaimed.

"He was putting on a show for you, as always. I hope that his deteriorating condition properly motivates you to shag ass."

"Has he had any attacks?"

A pause. "Not yet. I expect he'll have one soon."

Dean let out a string of choice expletives under his breath, pinching his eyes shut for a brief moment. Not for the first time, he wished he could be in two places at once. Even if Sam was technically in capable hands, leaving him alone with Crowley made Dean sick to his stomach. A _demon_ caring for his brother instead of him... he couldn't stand it.

Crowley noticed his silence. "Go to sleep, Squirrel. Do what you need to do and do it fast. Crying about poor, broken Sammy isn't going to get the job done."

"I'm not-"

"Toodles." Without further ado, the demon hung up the phone, leaving Dean with nothing but an inane beeping sound in his ear.

* * *

It was the worst attack yet.

Most of them lasted a minute, two if he was unlucky, but this one seemed endless. His back was arched a solid three inches above the mattress, his hands clamping down on the top of his head board, splintering the wood underneath with the strength of his grip. He felt like acid was pouring through his veins, everything was afire, sizzling, burning, ripping him apart piece by piece until nothing but white hot pain existed, flashing behind his eyes, blinding him.

He smelled sweat, vomit, blood, the last of which he felt trailing from his nose and mouth in copious amounts. He tasted iron and bile on his tongue, and there was screaming, screeching, hoarse _screaming_. It took him a minute to realize that the ungodly sound was coming from him.

Dear God, it just wouldn't _stop_. The pain should've subsided by now, leaving him a panting, aching mess. But no, it pressed on, blocking out anything and everything, destroying all that stood in its way. He wanted to die, he wanted his existence to be over so this torture could finally _end_.

As if some merciful deity had heard his plea, he felt two hot fingers pressing against his forehead, and his body collapsed against the bed, black hands reaching out and wrapping around him. He had a split second to wonder what was happening before he was sucked into darkness.

* * *

Crowley collapsed, sagging against the side of Sam's bed. He gasped for breath, leaning his forehead against the mattress as he tried to remember how to draw air in and out properly. Sure, he didn't technically _need_ to breathe, but his vessel certainly did better when it wasn't oxygen deprived. His forearms still felt like the veins they contained were about to burst, and a timpani pounded in his head. Vision blurry, he struggled to lift his head and look at Sam.

He was thoroughly unconscious. Good. The pain would've driven them both mad if he hadn't knocked out the hunter. His screams had been awful, ear-piercing, both aloud and within his head. He'd shouted in Crowley's mind, begged for death, for some kind of reprieve. Well, he wasn't about to slit the Winchester's throat, but putting him down for a little bit definitely did both of them some good.

The attacks were getting worse, that much was clear. Crowley, with a good deal of grunting, pulled himself back into a standing position, massaging his arms with a wince. He closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to center himself. He glanced sideways at the clock. Five in the morning. He'd been hoping that Sam would make it through the night without having an attack, but when the pain had struck them both he knew that it was not to be so. The bloody trials had struck again.

Crowley sank down into the chair beside Sam's bed, hoping that he'd put enough energy into knocking out the hunter that he'd stay unconscious long enough to rest, perhaps regain a little energy, though he expected his hopes would be dashed. He hated the fact that this was all on Dean and Castiel, now. That Crowley could do nothing more than sit by Sam's sickbed and hope he didn't die before his brother got back.

He sighed, settling himself in for what he expected to be a long morning, and finding himself wishing for the days where he was apathetic to everyone and everything. He was so much better off as an utter bastard.

* * *

_"I'm here to see the Senator," Castiel declares, pinning the aide with his eyes._

_"Um, regarding?" he asks._

_"Abuse of power."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"I am not petty. I'm punishing a woman who causes poverty and despair in my name. I put your needs first, don't you understand?" The aide doesn't respond, merely stares at him, eyebrows raised in confusion. Castiel turns in a circle, grabbing the attention of the others in the campaign office. "All of you! I am a better God than my Father. How can I make you understand?"_

_Then, he feels the pulsing, the digging, the spreading in his abdomen, hideous black voices crooning out his name, ~~ **"Castiel, Castiel, CASTIEL!"**~~_

_His vision begins to fade. He feels a laugh that sounds nothing like his own bubbling in his throat. He raises a hand and without hesitation shoves it through the aide, goring him through the middle and splattering hot blood across the sleeve of his trench coat and the desk behind him. He keeps laughing as the voices in his head swallow everything whole._

~~**_"YOU CAN'T HOLD US IN FOREVER, CASTIEL."_ ** ~~

_He can see again. There's a horrible pain blossoming in his stomach. He's bound to a chair, and in front of him sits Crowley, lounging at his desk, fingers steepled as he considers Castiel._

_"You can do whatever you want, Crowley," he tells the demon. "I will never tell you where I buried the tablet."_

_Crowley nods._ " _I know, Cas. I know. Luckily, I don't believe you'll have to. I've been getting regular updates from my expensive friend here," he beckons to Ion, who stands impassively at his side. "Naomi should have caught you out of the gate, seeing as lately she's been knuckles-deep in that melon of yours. She thinks that your touching the tablet has broken her spell over you, hmm?"_

_"The tablets weren't meant for the angels, and they weren't meant for you," he growls in response._

_"She's got a lot on her plate, so you can't fault her for missing it. I was thinking to myself, Self, if Cas got away from her by touching the tablet, why would he ever stop touching the tablet? And then I thought to myself, Self..." Crowley rises from his chair, coming to stand in front of him. "He hasn't_ stopped _touching the tablet, now has he?"_

_The demon plunges his hand into the wound in Castiel's stomach, searching fingers pulling, stretching, scratching and invading. He feels his life blood pouring out of the grievous injury and soaking his lap. Crowley's face is twisted in concentration as his fingers graze the stone buried within him. White hot agony rips through him as Crowley lets out a victorious laugh and promptly tears the tablet out of Cas._

_Then the pain is gone, replaced by Dean's angry features in front of him, demanding and accusing._

_"I can't help. You understand?" Cas asks, his voice weak. "I... I can't. I destroyed..._ everything _, and I will destroy everything again. Can we please just leave it at that?" Castiel is practically begging him to understand. He is poison. He has always been poison. He will_ always _be poison._

_"We can't leave it. You let these friggin' things in!" Dean snaps in response. "So, you don't get to make a sandwich! You don't get a damned cat! Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas. CLEAN UP YOUR MESS!"_

"Hey man, come on, you need to wake up. Cas. Cas!"

Castiel's eyes split open and he let out a harsh gasp as the sound of Dean's voice - not angry now, just concerned - pulled him out of his nightmare. Dim morning light shined through the windows, assaulting his sleep-sensitive eyes. Dean was leaning over him, already fully-dressed, lips pursed in a worried frown.

"Dean," he breathed out his friend's name as a sigh. The present was much less frightening than his past. "Hello."

"You okay?" Dean asked. "You were... hell, I thought you were having a fit or something."

Castiel looked down to see that he was thoroughly twisted in his sheets. He felt like his t-shirt was plastered to him. He realized that he was sweating profusely. "Nightmares," Cas said, by way of explanation. "No fit, it was... just a nightmare. Nothing to be get worked up over." He didn't know whether he was trying to convince himself or Dean.

Dean withdrew, still looking somewhat anxious. "You, uh... you want to talk about it?"

What Cas heard was, _"Oh Dear God, please tell me you don't want to talk about it."_

Cas shook his head, working his way out of his sheets. "I'm fine," he said, trying to imbue his voice with a strength he didn't feel. "It was just a dream."

 _Just a dream..._ he always was a bad liar.


	19. Far Away Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas has the bladder of a kitten, and Sam must face the horror of the Cage.

He really needed to teach Cas how to tie a tie at some point in the near future.

Dean stood in front of his friend, tying his dark blue tie carefully as the ex-angel bounced nervously on his heels. They were in Greenville, checked in at the Rodeway Inn. It was about five in the afternoon, and Dean figured they had enough time to interview the councilman's wife tonight and discretely check around the house to see if there were any signs of Archangel-turned-Trickster holy interference.

"When we get back home, I'm buying you clip-on ties," Dean grouched. "It'll save us both the trouble."

Cas's brow scrunched. "What is a clip-on tie?"

"It's a tie that comes pre-tied."

"Oh." Cas tilted his head. "Why don't all ties come that way?"

"Search me." Dean drew back, straightening Cas's shirt one last time before giving him a once over. Cas looked ready to roll. Neatly pressed black suit, shined dress shoes, a clean white button-down and a dark blue tie. He could pass for a Fed. Now he just had to make sure that the ex-angel acted like one. "Alright, you're looking good, Cas. Got your ID?"

Cas retrieved it from the pocket of his jacket, flashing it to Dean. He felt a bit of pride when he saw that it was right side up. FBI Special Agent James Simmons. The motion was practiced, careful. Cas was trying hard to get this right, and Dean was grateful for that much.

"Okay. Let's get going, then." He clapped Cas on the shoulder, checked his hair in the dusty mirror of their motel room, and headed for the door, Castiel following close behind. Before he could step out, however, Cas's voice stopped him.

"Dean," Cas called. Dean turned to look at the ex-angel, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," he said, blue eyes as sincere as his tone. Dean shifted on his feet, a little uncomfortable.

"You're welcome, but what exactly am I being thanked for, here?"

"For... believing in me," Castiel said slowly. "Allowing me to come on this hunt with you. It means more to me than you can imagine."

Dean gave Cas a small smile, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "No problem, man. But uh, can we cut this Hallmark moment short and get going?"

Cas nodded. "Yes. Let's go."

* * *

"Sammy... wake up, Sammy..."

Sam gasped, his eyes splitting open as he bolted up in his bed. The movement immediately seemed to set every nerve in his body on fire, and he groaned as agony wracked him. But that voice - where the hell had that voice come from?

He tried to continue sitting up, but he couldn't. He fell backwards, head hitting his pillow with a soft _thump_. Light assaulted his retinas, so he closed his eyes again, grateful for the darkness. He felt like someone had poured acid into the veins of his forearms. He faintly remembered his last attack and a kind of excruciating pain that he almost couldn't comprehend.

He reluctantly cracked open one eye and looked at the clock on his night stand. Three o'clock. He'd been asleep for over eleven hours. The only explanation was that Crowley must've done something to put him to sleep. Thank God, because if he'd had to continue to suffer through that attack, he wasn't sure that his sanity would've remained intact. Not that it was all that solid to begin with.

He turned his arm over. There was a fresh needle mark there. Crowley seemed to have recently given him another dose of meds. Hopefully that meant he would be able to eat something soon.

He looked around his room; he couldn't see the demon anywhere.

"Sammy..."

Sam gasped as he felt an ice cold hand press to his forehead. He was surprised that steam didn't rise from his burning hot skin. The released breath came out as a cloud of mist. He looked up into freezing blue eyes and a smirk that was all too familiar.

"No," Sam said hoarsely, trying to scramble away, but his arms quickly gave out from under him and offered no escape as he sank into his sweat-damp mattress. "No, you're... you're g-gone. Cas took you away... you're _gone_..."

Lucifer leaned forward, his hand sliding from Sam's forehead to his cheek. "Oh, Sam. You and I both know that you'll never be able to _completely_ get rid of me... I've been waiting. Waiting for you to fall apart so I could wiggle my way into the chinks in your armor... and now you don't even have any armor left."

Sam closed his eyes, trembling violently. "Not real, not real," he muttered, half-desperate. He turned his hand over, then dug the blunt nail of his thumb into the deep bite mark on his wrist that was just beginning to scab over until he felt blood well up beneath his finger.

He winced at the pain, but the hand on his cheek disappeared. He opened his eyes; he felt nothing but the searing heat of his fever. Satan, for the time being, was gone. He let out a sigh of relief, even though a part of him knew that this would not be the last echo he would see of the fallen angel. He'd accepted a long time ago that he would always be haunted by Lucifer. Some scars never healed. Some were just too deep.

 _"Crowley?"_ he called out weakly in his mind, making sure the demon could hear him. He didn't say anything else, mainly because didn't know exactly what he required. He decided that really, he just didn't want to be alone.

* * *

_"Clennan," Fergus called, his voice echoing through the upstairs of their house. "Get in here." A moment later, his younger brother appeared in the threshold of his mother's room, expression grim. He gestured for the sixteen-year-old to come forward._

_"Is this is it, then?" Clennan asked, running a hand through his dark brown hair, as he always did when he was worried. "Did she..."_

_"Yeah," Fergus replied, his words stilted. "Yeah, she did." He leaned back in the rickety wooden chair placed at his mother's bedside._

_Clennan was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the waif-like corpse on the bed. "Would it be wrong to say that I'm relieved?" he asked quietly. Fergus shook his head._

_"No. I am, too. It's been... what? Four years now. I can't believe she lasted this long. With what Daityas did to her..." he trailed off. Clennan grimaced._

_"That's what you get, working with demons. It was a damn foolish thing for her to do. If I'd known-"_

_"If any of us had known, we would've stopped her," Fergus cut him off. "But that doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done, what's dead is dead. We've got to salt and burn her corpse."_

_Clennan paled slightly. "W-why?"_

_"She was a witch, Clennan. When demons are looking for bodies to possess, they're first on the list. There's also a chance that her spirit might still be hanging around, with the way she went. It's got to be done," he explained. He'd gone through his mothers collection of grimoires over the past couple of years since his father's passing, and he'd learned more about the supernatural than he ever would've liked to._

_Clennan still looked uncomfortable. "Are you sure we have to?"_

_"I'm sure," he affirmed. "Listen, just go collect some wood, get the fire started. I'll handle the nasty stuff, alright?"_

_Clennan swallowed before nodding. "Alright."_

_Fergus mussed his brother's hair. "Don't tell the others. I don't want them to know just yet. And the questions they might ask..." Clennan nodded in understanding. It would be best if their younger siblings were kept in the dark. Clennan turned and walked out of the room, leaving Fergus alone with his dead mother._

_He should've felt something more, he knew that, but Adair MacLeod had been as good as dead for years, ever since she'd made the mistake of reneging on a deal she'd made with the Crossroads demon Daityas, who'd taken it out on her in the form of a curse that kept her locked inside of her own head. His father, before his passing, had every priest within a dozen leagues take a look at her, but none of them could do a thing. There was nothing to be exorcised, no prayer that could be uttered. She was doomed._

_He'd loved his mother, he had. She'd been alive and vibrant, once upon a time. She raised him well. However, he couldn't help but resent her now for leaving them to fend for themselves. After their father died when he was seventeen, he'd been left to run the tailor shop and care for his four siblings, a task he was not even remotely equipped to handle._

_After the past three years, he didn't have much room left for resentment. Now, he was just tired. Oh so very tired..._

_He could smell wood smoke wafting in through the window. Clennan was preparing the fire._

_"Crowley?"_

Crowley's eyes blinked open, his dream falling apart at the seams and drifting into darkness. He lifted his head, his cheek peeling away from the page of a tome he'd been reading through. After Crowley had knocked Sam out the night before, he'd been left with little to do. He decided that exploring the massive Men of Letters library would prove a decent way to pass the time until Sam awoke.

He'd spent the last few hours going through a book on curative spells that could at the very least hold dying men back from the brink. However, he severely doubted that any of the potions or incantations would even begin to erase the black stain of the trials from Sam, but it certainly didn't hurt to look. Especially when time was so clearly running out for the youngest Winchester.

Crowley cracked his neck. The exhaustion of the past week must've caught up with him. He checked the clock. He'd been asleep for the past hour. If anything, he felt more tired than he had before, and for Hell's sake, he didn't even _need_ to sleep.

_"Crowley..."_

Ah, so that's what had woken him. Sam's voice calling in his head. The hunter was awake, then. Crowley pushed himself out of the chair he'd been seated in and made his way out of the library, through the foyer, and down the corridor that led to Sam's bedroom. He was still getting acclimated to the many twists, turns, and anterooms of the Men of Letters bunker. He hadn't gotten a chance to fully explore it all - especially since the Winchesters only really set up shop in a portion of the underground headquarters.

He pushed open the door to Sam's room. The hunter was lying flat on his back, sweat dripping from his hairline and tracing down the bones of his face, which were starting to stand out in sharp relief. Sam was losing more and more weight by the day. His hands were covering his eyes.

"Moose?" Crowley asked, almost tentatively. He closed the door behind him. "What's wrong with you? Other than the obvious, that is."

Sam pursed his lips before responding. "I'm... starting to... to see things." Crowley felt a thrill of fear over their link. Not a good sign.

Crowley exhaled slowly. That meant that Sam's fever was worsening. "Bloody brilliant. What are you seeing?"

Sam didn't respond, just pressed his palms further into his eyes. Crowley bit the inside of his lip, wondering what hallucinations were plaguing the hunter. Of course, after thinking for about five seconds, the answer became blatantly obvious. Sam's soul spent a year and a half as Satan's only juicy source of amusement, after all...

"Is it Lucifer?" he asked softly. There was a brief pause. Sam nodded stiffly, letting his hands drop from his face. His eyes were still closed as he dug his thumb into the half-healed bite mark on the inside of his wrist. Judging by the blood there, this wasn't the first time Sam had done this.

 _So, physical pain shocks him out of it..._ he surmised. Crowley sighed, making his way to Sam's bed side. "Come on. It's time for that ice bath I mentioned." Hopefully he could get Sam's temperature down enough that he wouldn't see anything other than what was there. The idea of Sam having to see his tormentor again unsettled Crowley in a way he didn't even fully understand.

Sam didn't argue as Crowley helped him out of bed. The giant felt like a limp rag, and Crowley had to support almost his entire body weight. Crowley kept his eyes trained in front of them as they moved towards the bathroom. If he believed that God gave a damn, he would've prayed, but instead, he just hoped beyond hope that Castiel and Dean would hurry the hell up and find Gabriel before it was too late.

* * *

Dean rapped on the front door of the seventies style ranch house that served as the residence of the now late city councilman Peter Hagen. The sun was descending towards the horizon. They would only have another half hour or so of light. Castiel hoped they would be able to inspect the expansive pool tucked away behind a tall fence behind the house - where the councilman's murder took place - before they lost the sun completely.

The hunter leaned close to him, warm breath ghosting over his cheek as he spoke. Dean always seemed to radiate warmth. "Alright, Cas, at some point when we're talking to this chick, ask if you can use the bathroom."

Cas's brow furrowed. "Dean, I set up a schedule like you told me to, I emptied my bladder less than thirty minutes ago-"

"You're not really gonna use the bathroom," Dean cut across him, and Cas could read the exasperation in his tone. "You're gonna take the chance to go back and check around the pool. _Really_ check around."

"Wouldn't it make sense that our whole purpose for being here would be to check where the murder took place? Why do we have to employ deception?" Cas asked.

"Look, I'm sure the local cops have already been here, combed over the place and had the CSIU check it all out. It'll seem off if we go back there, and in a small town like this, we can't afford the suspicion. So, you slip back there while I talk to wifey, see how much of a dick her husband was, and you check the back out for signs of Gabe," Dean explained. He seemed like he was going to go on, but the front door of the house opened, revealing a wispy blonde woman with red-rimmed blue eyes.

"Charlotte Hagen?" Dean asked.

"Yes, how can I-"

"Can I use your bathroom?" Castiel asked quickly, not wanting to waste time. Dean slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. The woman in front of him adopted an expression of confusion. Had he done something wrong?

Dean sighed, flashing his ID. Cas swiftly followed suit, showing his own. He made sure it was right-side up. "Agents Page and Simmons, FBI. We're here to ask you a few questions about your husband."

"I've already spoken to the police. Why does the FBI want to know about Pete's death?" she asked, not openly suspicious, but certainly wary.

"We're just covering our bases, mam. Certain circumstances surrounding his death don't add up."

"The police ruled it as an accident..."

"We're sure it was," Dean assured her. "Like he said, we'd just like to clear a few things up and make sure that this wasn't something else. Would it be alright if we came in?" Dean's eyes flicked to Cas. "And if he could use your bathroom, that'd be great. Bladder like a kitten, seriously."

"Of course," she said, beckoning them inside. "I'll put some coffee on." Castiel and Dean stepped into the entrance way of the house and then into the pristine kitchen. "The bathroom is through the living room, down the hallway, second door to the left."

"Thank you," Cas replied. Dean gave him a wink. Cas turned his back, making his way out of the room.

He heard Dean mutter something to Charlotte that sounded suspiciously like, "He's somewhere on the autism spectrum, just haven't figured out where just yet."

Cas diverted his course away from where he'd been directed, looking for a backdoor. He walked through a wide archway in the living room that led to a small sun room. A sliding glass door led to the back patio, and subsequently, the pool. Cas checked over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before quietly opening the door and slipping out of the house.

Castiel looked around. At first glance, the pool and deck both seemed utterly immaculate. However, upon closer inspection, Cas could see some of the wood worn down - most likely from a power scrubber. The pool was drained, and the bottom seemed to have been bleached. Dean emailed a friend of his, Charlie, earlier that day, and she'd hacked the police report for them - officially, the pool filter malfunctioned and Peter Hagen was suctioned to the bottom of the pool, where his scrotum was torn off and he drowned and bled out almost simultaneously, though the official COD was ruled as drowning.

He tiptoed his way around the pool, trying to find some sign that it was Gabriel who did this. He went to the pool filter control by the pool shed. He narrowed his eyes at it. The dim orange sunlight was fading by the minute.

Cas paced around it, looking for something. Then, there it was - a smudge of brown, maybe just dirt, but Cas suspected differently. The police wouldn't have suspected murder, so of course they would've have swiped for prints...

With no better way to judge what it was, Cas leaned down and inhaled. _Chocolate._

Oh yes. His big brother had been here. And apparently he'd seen it fit to brutally murder Peter Hagen - the question was, why? Gabriel never killed without reason. He considered himself to be some force of cosmic karma, dealing it out only to those who supposedly deserved it. Cas couldn't claim to approve of the archangel's methods, but at least he dictated himself with some kind of moral code. It was better than most of the other angels managed to accomplish.

Perhaps it wasn't infallible proof, but only so many coincidences could coincide before the obvious became clear. Gabriel was back, and hopefully still in the area.

He had a feeling that his brother wasn't done with this town just yet.


	20. Let's Kill Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel's victims pretty much deserve it, and Cas doesn't know that you're supposed to sip bourbon.

"Mrs. Hagen, did your husband have any enemies?" Dean inquired, taking polite sips of the borderline undrinkable coffee the mourning housewife had made up for him, and Cas, whenever he returned. Perhaps sending Cas out to search the property on his own wasn't the wisest decision, but leaving social situations to The Autistic Ex-Angel Boy Wonder wasn't a good plan by anyone's definition.

"Does the FBI think that Pete was murdered?" Charlotte asked, narrowing her red-rimmed eyes at Dean. Dean shook his head swiftly.

"No, no. Like I said before, we're just covering all of our bases at this point." Another sip of the ass-coffee. That gag reflex was going to be the death of him someday. "Please, was there anyone who would've wanted your husband dead?"

Charlotte frowned, staring down at her currently untouched drink. Her thin blonde hair hung in her eyes, and it made her look young. He'd read up on Hagen - Charlotte was almost twenty years his junior. Typical politician, trophy wife young enough to be his daughter.

"Pete was on the city council. There were always dissenters, but someone wanting to kill him? No. People around here just aren't like that, Agent Page. No one would kill Pete." She averted her eyes. Dean could tell she was holding something back. Question was, what?

"How was the condition of your marriage, Mrs. Hagen?" Dean asked gently. This was always the tricky part, but hopefully it would yield some kind of fruit. Mainly, the reason why Gabriel thought this dick was worth ganking more than all the other scum bag politicians in the world.

Charlotte stiffened immediately. "I don't see how that has anything to do with what happened. Why would that even matter?"

"Everything matters, mam." Ooh, that was a good line. He couldn't remember whether he'd gotten that off of _Criminal Minds_ or he'd just pulled that off the top of his head.

Charlotte pursed her thin lips, refusing to meet his eyes. "We were having problems," she admitted. She exhaled sharply. "If you're trying to imply something here-"

Dean held up a hand to cut her off. "I don't think that you killed your husband," he assured her, and he was being honest on that account - he was pretty sure Hagen's cause of death was something a little more feathery. "But if there was some kind of... infidelity, well, we like to know about things like that. Crimes of passion, bla bla bla, you know the routine."

Dean's eyes wandered over to the next room, and he strained to hear sounds of Cas. If he believed that praying would do a damn thing, he would send up a request that the ex-angel not get himself into any trouble. He knew his paranoia was probably undue, but... well, the last time he took Cas on a hunt, he tried to interrogate a cat.

His track record wasn't great.

"I..." Charlotte crossed her arms, seeming intensely uncomfortable. "I'll be frank. I've been speaking to a divorce lawyer for the past month."

Pay dirt. "Oh?"

"Yes." Her jaw tightened. "There was another woman." She paused. "Several other women."

Dean's first thought was _how_ , mainly because he'd seen pictures of Hagen and the dude was overweight and nursing one hell of a bald spot, but discarded that question to the side for the moment. "When did you find out about this?"

"I've been having suspicions for the past year. I walked in on him with one of them three months ago." She looked like she was going to be sick. "Ever since my diagnosis, he's been coming home later and later. I know there's more than one."

"Diagnosis?" Dean echoed, feeling disgust welling in his gut.

"Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma," Charlotte provided. "Stage four."

He didn't know what stage meant what when it came to cancer, but he figured stage four wasn't anything to be happy about. The thin, almost wasting figure of the widow suddenly made sense now.

He was beginning to understand why Gabe iced Peter Hagen.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," he said, and he meant it.

She nodded. "It's so strange, though. I had a screening the day after Peter died, Tuesday of last week." She gave him a weak smile. "Before, they were giving me a year at best. Now? I have to go in for more tests, but..." She exhaled slowly. "The doctors say it seems like I'm in remission. Like some kind of miracle."

Some kind of miracle.

Smarmy, homicidal dick he may've been, but heartless he was not.

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, Cas walked back into the room, trying very hard to appear nonchalant, and to his credit, partially succeeding. "Your bathroom is lovely," Cas told Charlotte, sounding so goddamn genuine Dean had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from laughing.

"Um. Thank you," she replied. Cas took his seat at the kitchen table next to Dean, picking up his coffee and taking a deep gulp of it. Cas always did have a weakness for coffee. Dean tried some kind of subtle eye twitch to tell Cas that the coffee tasted like piss, but he didn't catch it.

Cas gagged; those newly developed human taste buds weren't doing him any favors.

"Is there anything else that you can think of that could be relevant to your husband's passing, Mrs. Hagen?" Dean asked, trying to cover for Cas. He hoped the ex-angel found something worthwhile around the pool, or else he was seriously going to rethink bringing Cas along to interview any more of the victims' families.

"No. Once again, it must've been an accident. It had to be."

"Right, right. Of course." Dean rose from his chair, giving Cas a look that told him to do the same. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Hagen." Dean pulled his false calling card out of the pocket of his suit coat and handed it to the widow. "If you can think of anything else, feel free to give us a call."

"It was no trouble," she told them. With one last respectful nod, Dean turned for the door, followed closely by Cas. They stepped out into the warm evening air, closing the front door of the house gently behind them.

"Well?" Dean asked, wasting no time as the two of them made their way back to the Impala.

"Gabriel was here," the ex-angel affirmed. "I saw signs of him where the murder took place."

"Yeah, I talked to wife-y - she had terminal cancer and old Pete was cheating on her with half the town. Now his dick and him are in separate coffins and she's cured. Gabe may as well have spray-painted his name in neon over this crap," Dean replied, opening the driver's side door and slipping into the Impala.

"What's our next step?" Cas asked, getting in on the other side.

Dean checked his watch. It was pushing nine o'clock. He knew that Cas hadn't slept well the night before, with the nightmares that plagued him, and he didn't want his friend dragging tomorrow.

"Let's head back to the motel. We'll study up on the case files of the coach and the police chief, tomorrow we'll question the families, try to find a link between the three of them - we need to find out where Gabriel spotted them all, see if we can get a hit on where he's hanging out around here."

Cas nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

Crowley glared at the thermometer. One bloody degree. All of that work giving the giant baby an ice bath, and his fever goes from 105 to 104. Not as though the view had been unpleasant, but he was fairly sure that if Sam had been fully coherent he would've been mentally scarred for the rest of his life, and even in his dazed state he was confident that it wasn't natural for someone to blush for a half an hour straight.

Sam was back in bed now, rolled over on his side. He was awake, sweating like a pig, and shaking, but he wasn't seeing anything - so far as Crowley could tell, anyhow. He didn't feel much over their link at present, other than general hopelessness and agony, but that was just to be expected.

He grabbed Sam's arm and turned it, slipping another syringe of stomach medication out of his pocket. He gave Sam the injection. The hunter winced, but said nothing. He seemed too exhausted to speak.

"I'm going to call your brother," he told Sam quietly. "Wouldn't want mother hen laying an egg."

 _"Alright,"_ came the bleary reply.

"Do you think you can handle soup?" Crowley asked, placing the empty syringe on Sam's night stand. Sam shook his head, grimacing.

_"Not tonight."_

"You need to eat, Moose," Crowley told him, though he couldn't blame the younger Winchester for his reluctance. Even with the medication, little of what he ate could stay down.

"Can't," Sam murmured, out loud this time. Crowley could sense that he was about to pass out, so he merely sighed and sauntered out of the room, hoping that Sam would grab a few hours of sleep before his next attack. However, he thought that they were both already pushing their luck on that count - it had been over fourteen hours since Sam's last attack, an unusually long gap.

Probably meant that the next one was going to be infinitely worse. Joy upon joy.

Crowley pulled his iPhone out of his pocket, quickly tapping in Dean's number. It rang twice before the hunter picked up on the other end. "What do you want, Crowley?"

"So testy. Don't you miss me?" Crowley drawled, tilting his head as he made his way down the corridor that held the currently in use bedrooms of the bunker. He wasn't going anywhere specifically, but he felt restless and surrendered to his desire to keep moving.

"Is Sam alright?"

"No, he's dying. I thought that much was obvious. And to answer your next question, yes, he is worse than yesterday." He paused, tonguing the inside of his cheek. He supposed Sam probably wouldn't want him to inform Dean of his hallucinations, but honestly, at this point, Sam's privacy was one of his absolute last worries. "He's seeing Lucifer."

"What do you mean, he's seeing Lucifer? Cas kicked that son of a bitch out years ago!"

"His soul was Satan's only source of amusement for eighteen months, you dolt. That kind of thing doesn't just _leave_. Lucy's working his way through the cracks in his psyche, which are rather large at the moment. The Cage is going to come flooding in the more he deteriorates."

He heard Dean swallow with effort across the line. "We've found Gabriel's trail. We've just gotta follow it."

"Well, best do it tout-bloody-suite," Crowley said. "I keep overestimating his condition. I thought he might last a month or two, then I thought a few weeks... we're looking at days, and that's optimistic. I can barely keep his fever down as is."

"How bad?"

"Hovering between 104 and 105, bound to go up," he provided. "Do what you need to do."

"What the hell do you think we're doing out here, playing patty-cake!?" Dean snapped out.

"Temper, temper, Squirrel."

"We have got a handful of dead assholes and chocolate stains, trying to find an archangel who doesn't want to be found, and my brother's dying with no one but a fucking demon at his bedside!" The hunter's voice rose with every syllable.

"Yes, well, said _fucking demon_ is the only thing keeping your invalid brother alive," Crowley growled out in response. "Is the check-in over, or do you want to exchange sexually charged witty banter for a few more minutes?"

"Go back to Sam. And call me if anything changes- wait, what about Kevin? He okay?"

"Wouldn't know. Hasn't left his room in days." Whenever he made food for Sam, he made enough for Kevin, and would leave the meal outside the prophet's door. He would knock briskly on the wood, inform the teenager that his food was waiting for him, then depart.

Kevin never responded, but the dishes were always gone, so at least that meant that the prophet was staying fed and wouldn't bite it while Crowley was busy attending to Sam. Wouldn't want to have another Tran death on his shoulders. He grimaced at the thought.

"Keep an eye on him."

"Was that an order?"

"Just do it!" Before Crowley could deliver a sure-to-be clever retort, he heard a click on the other end, quickly followed by the inane _beep-beep-beep_ , signifying that he'd been hung up on. Crowley glared at the phone, but decided to pocket it before he accidentally ended up melting it... much like he'd done with the past five phones he'd purchased.

Fucking demon, responsible for the fucking Winchester and the fucking prophet.

He shook his head and made his way down the hall. He didn't want to leave Sam alone for long.

* * *

"Dean." Cas's voice roused him from his surly silence. Dean looked up from his laptop. Cas was pouring over printed out information on the victims and their families, his brow furrowed and bright blue eyes roaming over the words intently. "I believe I may have discovered the connection between the victims."

Dean blinked, surprised at the possibility of good news. For the past hour since speaking to Crowley, he'd been continuously distracted by thoughts of Sam and what his brother was going through. Having to face off against the devil inside of his own mind yet again... the very thought of it made him want to empty the contents of his stomach.

He stood up from his chair and made his way over to Cas. It was about eleven now, and he could feel weariness tugging at his eyelids. He could see that Cas was in a similar state. The ex-angel's hair was a disheveled mess and his shoulders were hunched.

To think, just a little over a week ago, Cas didn't need to sleep. Didn't need to eat. Could've read all of those papers in front of him in the blink of an eye. It was fortune cookie worthy, almost. The only guarantee in life was that life changes.

Dean leaned over Cas's shoulder. "What do you got? Other than the fact that they're all dicks?"

Dean had been researching the police chief for most of the night. He'd been suspected by his superiors of taking bribes for the past several months, according to the personnel files Charlie had helped him get access to. Turned out that a convicted serial rapist he caught about a month ago happened to walk free when some key evidence in the case was 'lost'.

Dean was, on principal, against killing humans... but sometimes he could see the logic in it.

"Peter Hagen's mother owns an ice cream shop in town, The Heavenly Scoop," Cas explained. "Patrick Bryce, the police chief, his teenage daughter works there. So does the football coach's son, Gregory MacMillan."

"Heavenly Scoop." Dean snorted. "Is irony one of their thirty-one flavors?"

"I don't believe irony has a flavor, Dean."

"Idioms, Cas, come on," Dean sighed. "So, Gabriel's probably been hanging out at this place, scoping out victims." He pursed his lips. "Question is, do we just walk into the place tomorrow, or do we stake it out?"

"I don't know whether Gabriel would run if he saw us or not. It depends on how determined he is to stay hidden," Castiel replied. "Though, to be frank, if Gabriel truly doesn't want us to find him, I don't believe he'd allow himself to be found."

"What, you think he wants us to come to him?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I believe that Gabriel knows how to evade capture perhaps better than anyone. I also know that he's always had a somewhat vested interest in Sam, for whatever reason. And I also know that my brother likes nothing more than to play games with people." Cas seemed lost in thought.

"So, the ice cream joint's a trap," Dean surmised. Cas nodded slowly.

"I would assume so, yes."

"We don't have time to play fucking games with him," Dean said. "Crowley said... he said Sam's got _days_. At best." Dean bit down on the inside of his lip. "God, I hate the fact that we had to leave Sammy with that bastard."

"As do I," Cas agreed. "But, for whatever reason, Crowley seems to be showing actual concern towards Sam."

"Or he's faking it and he's just waiting for the right moment to stab us all in the back," Dean argued. He stripped off his shoes and his suit jacket. It was time for bed. They'd found a very solid lead, and chances were tomorrow they would come face to face with their missing archangel.

He sat down on the edge of his bed. Cas rose from his chair, turning to look at Dean. "Although I don't trust Crowley, betrayal isn't really his style," Cas told him. "He keeps his agreements. Demon or not, he does have some strange semblance of integrity." He averted his eyes. "Which is most likely why he was so furious when I reneged on our deal to open Purgatory.'

"I'm thinking he was probably more furious that he wasn't going to get the all-you-can-eat soul buffet," Dean responded dully. The last thing he wanted to talk about was that whole fiasco. He'd forgiven Cas for what happened, he really had, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still angry about it. Betraying them for the King of Hell and then going megalomaniac and declaring himself God - that wasn't something he could just forget.

"I suppose." Cas shut Dean's laptop for him, since the hunter neglected to do so. "We'll find Gabriel, Dean. We'll find him, and we will save Sam."

Dean undid his tie, not meeting the ex-angel's eyes, which were seeking out his own. He knew that Cas was saying this to make him feel better. They both had their doubts about this. Gabriel was by no means a sure thing. They just had to hope that he felt benevolent when they crossed paths.

Dean reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out what he'd grabbed from the Impala for Cas earlier that day. He tossed it to his friend, who barely managed to catch it before they hit the ground.

Dean stretched out on his bed, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes while Cas read the label of the small bottle he'd tossed him.

"Bourbon."

"Mhmm," Dean mumbled. "Best sleep aid in the world, man." He cracked open one eye. "It's for the dreams."

Cas looked up at him. "Dreams," he repeated. Dean nodded.

"The bad ones."

A look of understanding dawned on Cas's face. He unscrewed the cap of the bottle, sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, then downed the entirety of it.

"Shit, Cas, you're supposed to _sip_ it!" Sure, there was probably only the equivalent of four shots in the bottle, but damn, that was just too much all at once. Cas's eyes widened as he slammed the bottle down on the table. His face twitched, then a shudder racked his entire body.

"That... was disgusting," he muttered, covering his mouth with his hand. Dean could tell he was trying hard not to throw up.

"Yeah, well, that's gonna hit you pretty soon, so ditch your shoes and crawl into bed before you pass out," Dean advised him, reaching over to turn out his bedside light. Still looking thoroughly grossed out, Cas slipped off his shoes, ditched his suit coat, and flopped onto his own bed. He reached over and switched off his own light, enshrouding them in darkness.

After a moment, Cas spoke. "Thank you for the... _sleep aid_."

"Yeah, well, see if you wanna thank me in the morning," Dean replied. He sighed, beating his own pillow into a more comfortable shape.

"Goodnight, Dean," the ex-angel murmured sleepily.

"Goodnight, Cas." He paused. "Sweet dreams, man."

The angel was snoring before he managed to get the words out. Dean smiled.


	21. I Ain't the One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel ships Destiel, and Dean and Cas suffer for it.

In a small Ma and Pa diner in Greenville, North Carolina, a short man with slicked back chestnut hair and mischievous golden eyes sat at a corner table, a sleek laptop in front of him. He wore a hint of a smirk on his thin lips as he read over what was on the screen, an eyebrow occasionally twitching in amusement.

"Sir, your double-pump vanilla half-caf?"

The man looked up at the waitress who was holding his drink. With a winning smile, he accepted it from her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

The woman blushed before walking away to help another one of the early morning customers. The man sipped at his drink. He couldn't exactly remember when he developed a taste for coffee - sometime in the early twentieth century, probably. All he knew was that the humans just kept making it taste better, and he was all on board with that.

His eyes went back to the screen, and he chuckled lowly to himself. "Oh, you boys are gonna be in for a treat."

* * *

"Cas." Nothing.

"Cas." No response.

"Castiel!" Okay, maybe he twitched a little that time.

"CASTIEL!" Dean kicked the side of the ex-angel's bed. He was starting to regret giving Cas bourbon the night before.

"Come on, man! We gotta go!" He'd been trying and failing to wake Cas up for the past twenty minutes. It was pushing noon, and he didn't have time to let Cas continue sleeping. "What the hell are you doing, making up for not sleeping for thousands of years? Come _on_!"

"Mmmmsleep," the former angel finally grumbled out, not moving from where he lay.

"Damn it, Cas! We're on a timetable, here," Dean responded, grabbing the angel by the shoulders and flipping him so that he was lying on his back instead of spread-eagle on his stomach like he had been the moment before. His eyes were still closed. Dean snapped his fingers in front of his friend's face, but Cas showed no reaction. "Alright, you asked for it."

Dean disappeared into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He returned to Castiel's bedside. Uncapped the bottle. Tipped it.

Ice cold water splashed on the ex-angel's peaceful, sleeping face.

Cas gasped, sitting up ramrod straight in bed and sputtering as the water dripped down his face and chest. He shivered, blinking his eyes open rapidly. He looked up at Dean, looking thoroughly put out. His hair stuck to his forehead, and in a way... hell, he looked kind of adorable.

Okay. That was a weird thought. Dean had been having a lot of those, lately. _Must be the stress._ He pushed it to the back of his mind as he set the now half-empty bottle of water on the night stand.

"That was incredibly unpleasant. What necessitated you doing that?" Cas asked, grimacing as he wiped his face off with his sleeve.

"The fact that we need to go and I couldn't wake you up for love or money," Dean said grumpily. "Get dressed. We gotta get going."

Cas nodded blearily, opening his eyes fully. He immediately flinched and covered his eyes with his hands, groaning. "Turn it off!"

"Turn what off?" There were no lights on in the motel room, only late morning sunlight streaming in through the window.

"The _sun,_ " Cas elaborated. "I questioned my Father's decision in making it so unbearably fluorescent... ugh..."

"Welcome to Hangover Land, buddy," Dean said, clapping the former angel on the back. "I'll get you some aspirin, you get changed."

Soon, Cas was fully dressed in his fed suit once more. Dean did up his tie for him, gave him a glass of water and two Tylenol, then sent him off to the bathroom to brush his teeth, as his breath currently wreaked of bourbon. A few minutes later, they were out the door and in the Impala, practically speeding towards the Heavenly Scoop.

Dean drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. "This is either gonna go really good, or really bad."

Cas didn't respond for a moment. His eyes were lowered, his brow scrunched in pain. He was sure that his friend had one hell of a headache at the moment. "What makes you say that?" he eventually mumbled, rubbing his temples.

"Because it's Gabriel. He's gonna fuck with us, there's no way he won't," Dean told him, eyes fixed on the road. The Heavenly Scoop was beside the highway that led out of town, the last thing people saw before leaving Greenville.

"Well, I hope that whatever 'fucking' Gabriel chooses to do is mercifully brief," Cas replied. "We do not have time to waste. _Sam_ does not have time to waste."

"No," Dean agreed quietly. "No, he doesn't."

* * *

"Okay." Dean craned his neck, looking up at the Heavenly Scoop - the sign was written in large, pink font. How lovely. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

"Neither do I," Cas agreed.

"Great. Normal day, then," Dean grunted. He shifted uncomfortably. He currently had a pine stake tucked in the back of his pants. It would hurt Gabriel, but not kill him. They needed some kind of weapon against his brother. He knew that Gabriel wasn't evil, of course, but that didn't mean that he wasn't dangerous. "Let's get this over with," Dean said, and Cas nodded.

Dean pushed through the glass front doors of the Heavenly Scoop, and Cas followed dutifully behind him.

Once inside, Cas blinked. He didn't know where he was, but he most certainly was not in an ice cream shop.

In fact, the pungent aroma of coffee grounds was wafting through the air. He looked around, and he was in some kind of shop - there were tables scattered around with people sitting at them, nursing drinks in Styrofoam cups along with muffins or donuts. Cas realized that he was behind a counter. In front of him was a cash register and several racks of candy. He craned his neck. Above him was a brief menu on screen.

"A coffee shop?" Cas muttered to himself.

Even when he was an angel, he'd had a penchant for coffee, so he wasn't completely unfamiliar with this particular brand of human establishment. But why would Gabriel send him here, of all places? He and Dean had both expected the archangel to do something to them - this was Gabriel, after all - but what purpose did sending him here serve?

Someone cleared their throat, dragging Cas's attention back in front of him. He lowered his eyes from the menu and looked over the counter. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Dean. He was afraid that Gabriel might've separated them.

"I-"

"Coffee, black," Dean interrupted him, watching him intently. Curiously. "If you don't mind."

Cas tilted his head. "Dean, I don't know how to make coffee."

One of Dean's eyebrows raised. "Weird choice of profession, then... and how exactly do you know my name?"

It took Cas a moment to realize what he was saying. He looked down, only to see that he was in a short sleeve blue button down with a crisp white apron over top. On the breast, there was a name tag that read, "Hi, I'm Castiel!"

He frowned, eyes going back to Dean, who was drumming his fingers on the counter, and still watching him. Staring at him, practically. "So, Castiel, huh?"

"That is my name, yes." He was starting to suspect that the Dean in front of him might not actually be Dean, as he'd yet to curse or pull out a weapon in the past minute, and considering their current situation, that seemed terribly out of character.

"Your family religious or something?"

Castiel held back a sigh. This was a waste of time! He had to find a way to break whatever this microcosm reality was. They couldn't afford to wander around in Gabriel's little prank universes while Sam was on the brink of dying.

"You could say that," he answered tightly. He walked out of the kitchen area behind the counter and into the shop, peering around for signs of Gabriel - or someone who could be Gabriel in disguise. All of the other coffee shop patrons seemed distracted by their drinks, newspapers, or laptops. None were looking at he and Dean.

"Is everything alright?" Dean asked. Castiel shook his head.

"No," Cas answered bluntly.

He spun around, looking at Dean. Or Not-Dean. Whoever he was. He looked essentially the same as his Dean - green eyes, sandy brown hair, chiseled features. The only difference was that instead of the suit he wore to impersonate a federal agent, he was dressed in just a t-shirt, jacket, and jeans. Aside from that... his eyes looked less haunted, and the dark circles that always hung beneath them were gone.

"Listen, do you-"

"You still haven't told me how you know my name," Not-Dean interrupted him, sauntering forward with his hands in his pockets. Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Not-Dean cut across him again. "Look, are you feeling the same thing I am here?" he asked, his voice low. Cas's brow furrowed.

"I don't understand your meaning."

"Are you feeling... a connection?" he asked, and Not-Dean reached out and squeezed his hand lightly. Cas felt his cheeks grow hot. Dean didn't touch him like that. He just _didn't_.

"I- I-" What the hell was his brother _doing_? "Dean, I don't-"

Not-Dean put a finger to his lips. "There's an alley around the back of the shop, you know. Really out of the way. No one will see us there... I usually don't do things like this, but..." He cracked a smile. "I guess, well, I think you're kind of special, Castiel."

Cas didn't know why Dean would want to go somewhere that no one would be able to see them. Was he going to kill him? No, Gabriel wouldn't find that amusing. He was reluctant to go anywhere with Not-Dean, but perhaps following him would lead him to Gabriel.

"Uh. Lead the way," Castiel said, his words slightly muffled by Not-Dean's finger still on his lips.

Not-Dean's smile widened, and he intertwined his fingers with Castiel's, leading him out of the coffee shop. Holding hands with the hunter - or was he not a hunter, in this universe? - didn't feel uncomfortable, necessarily. His hand was warm and their fingers fit together well. It was just not something he and Dean did. He was fairly sure that holding hands was something reserved for humans who were engaged in a sexual relationship.

They stepped out onto the street. It was fall, by the looks of it. Cas recognized the city they were in - Lebanon, Kansas. Where the Men of Letters bunker was. Cas didn't have much a chance to further examine his surroundings before Dean was dragging him around the side of the coffee shop to the back alley he mentioned. There was nothing back there other than two dumpsters and a few empty cardboard boxes. It didn't smell terribly pleasant, but Not-Dean's cologne (which was much stronger than his Dean's) did a good job of blocking it out.

"Dean, I need to find-" he began, trying to explain his situation to Not-Dean. Perhaps he would still be able to find Gabriel if he enlisted his help. However, his words were stopped when Not-Dean pinned him roughly against the back wall of the coffee shop. A moment later, Not-Dean sealed his mouth over Castiel's, lips pressing into his.

Cas waved his free hand almost frantically, completely unsure of what to do. Dean was _kissing_ him. Well, no. Not-Dean was kissing him. And for whatever reason, Gabriel must've found this amusing.

Castiel pushed Not-Dean away after a moment. "I don't really think this is appropriate, given the fact that you are a figment of my brother's vivid imagination." He shot a dirty glare to the sky to punctuate his statement.

Not-Dean barely seemed to hear him. He cupped Cas's face in his hands, looking at him with open wonder. "You have the most beautiful eyes that I've ever seen."

"Thank you?" He didn't really know how to respond to that compliment. He'd never paid much attention to his vessel's eyes.

Before he could say more, Not-Dean kissed him hard on the mouth once again, his hands carding through his hair. Cas flailed his arms, the sensation almost overwhelming. Dean pushed him back against the wall with more pressure, and _what on Earth was that pressing against his thigh-!_

He wanted to stop it, but whatever this was, he couldn't say that it was unpleasant. Perhaps he should just let things play out. It wasn't as though there was much else he could do at the moment. And not to mention, he'd only ever been kissed twice. Once by Meg... which hadn't been wholly bad, but she'd tasted of sulfur and brimstone. And peanut butter. And then when he and Crowley had sealed their Purgatory deal they'd kissed, as was procedure, and on that occasion, he'd practically been able to feel the demon king's sin burning on his lips, and the taste of hellfire on his tongue.

Dean, on the other hand, tasted like bourbon and mint and... _Oh,_ _this is not good. Not at all._

Completely against his will, he melted into the kiss, and he put his hands on Not-Dean's shoulders to steady himself. It was just a kiss. Harmless. Humans kissed all the time, didn't they? And he was a human now. This was something he needed to experience. He just didn't want to analyze the fact that the idea of experiencing it with Dean was very much preferable to experiencing it with anyone else.

Not-Dean's tongue pressed at the seal of his lips, and he opened up his mouth so that their kiss could be deepened. Oh, now _that_ was a new sensation.

Cas was startled when he heard clapping echoing in the alley. Suddenly, Not-Dean was gone, leaving Cas alone and flushed, leaning against the wall for support. On one of the dumpsters sat a short man with gold eyes, chestnut hair, and an indelible smirk.

"Gabriel," Cas growled, wiping the saliva from his mouth. "What is the meaning of this?"

Gabriel gave him a look of mock hurt. "Really, Cassie? You find out I'm back from the dead, that your dear brother's alive, and that's all I get?" He slid off the dumpster and opened his arms. "Come on. Give me a hug. You know you want to."

Actually, he was very distinctly sure that he didn't want to. "I don't have time for games, Gabriel," Cas snapped, trying to regain his composure. "Sam is dying, and you're the only one who can help him."

"Giant baby's gotten himself in trouble again, huh?" Gabriel asked, not seeming terribly concerned. "Shocker. But honestly, you know, I'm _bored_. I've been bored for awhile. Killing the dickheads around here, it's cheap entertainment." He grinned. "I've been missing the best toys in my toy box, after all."

"What have you done with Dean?" Castiel demanded, encroaching on his brother. He went to rip his angel blade out of its sheath on his side, but found nothing there. Ah. Right. The uniform.

"I'm just putting him through the ringer, trying to confirm the theories of a few thousand women, ages fourteen to fifty," Gabriel explained. "Really, it's all in the name of science."

Cas didn't know what Gabriel was talking about, and at the moment, he didn't particularly care. "End this _now_ , Gabriel."

"Ah-ah." He poked a finger into Cas's chest. "Remember your place, little bro. I'm an archangel, and now you're human. Chain of command, yada yada yada." He raised his other hand, his lips twisting into a smirk. "End it? Heh... I'm just getting started."

He snapped his fingers.


	22. Don't Fear the Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley crosses a line to save Sam, but it might already be too late.

_Sam stares at the mirror, but he doesn't see himself staring back. It's him, sure, but his eyes are blank. His smile - more of a smirk, really - is dead. He feels cold. Cold down to his bones, down to his blood and his soul._

_He reaches up a hand without making the decision to do so. Flexes it. "It feels good to be back," he says, but it's not his voice._

_It's Lucifer's._

_"Didn't you miss me, Sammy? Didn't you miss feeling me inside of you, using you?" He steps back from the mirror, turning. All he can smell now is blood. There are bodies everywhere, so mangled he can barely make them out. There's one near his foot, and with the tip of his boot, he rolls it over._

_It's Dean. His throat is slashed, and his chest is torn open. His bright green eyes stare up at nothing. No, not Dean... not his brother..._

_Lucifer uses Sam's body to lean down. He swipes two fingers through the crimson fluid pooled in the crevices of Dean's ripped open throat. He sucks the two fingers into his mouth. Sam tastes the taint of iron on his tongue, and he feels like he's going to be a sick._

_"Not as good as demon blood, but not bad," Lucifer comments. He looks around at the other bodies piled around them. He sees now that they're in the foyer of the bunker. "What do you say we see who else we've got here, Sam?"_

_He manages to make out a trench coat through scarlet. Cas. A thin, curled up body with shaggy black hair and a pool of blood steadily forming around it. Kevin. Then, a smaller body, dressed completely in a black suit, leaning against the wall. The eyes are burned out. Crowley._

_"All dead," Lucifer says in a sing-song voice. "Didn't you miss this, bunk buddy? All the fun I can have with all these squishy little meat puppets you choose to surround yourself with?"_ _Sam tries to resist, tries to take back his body, but he can't. He's trapped. "Oh, come on. You know you're not strong enough to fight me. Not with the trials eating away at you..."_

_Lucifer turns back to the mirror, grinning with Sam's mouth. "Speaking of... hasn't it been awhile since you had an attack?" He takes his blood soaked finger and presses it into the vein of Sam's left hand. "Happy trails, partner."_

* * *

"You tell me to check in everyday, and then you don't pick up the phone? Really, Squirrel. That's cold. Call me when you get this."

Crowley hung up his phone with a sigh. He'd called Dean three times, and he hadn't answered. Not a good sign. However, he had his own problems to deal with here, and he didn't have time to worry about what kind of mayhem Dean and Castiel had managed to get themselves into. Really, with Gabriel, anything was possible.

Crowley's eyes went to Sam. He'd slept through the night, miraculously, and he was still out. He was shaking though, tossing and turning in his sleep like a mad man. Crowley felt fear coursing through their connection, and he'd gotten occasional glimpses of images - blood stained hands, cold eyes, a laugh that made even him want to find the nearest closet and hide inside.

Whatever was going on in Sam's head, Crowley was sure it was Hell. Perhaps quite literally.

Crowley shifted in his chair, biting down on his lip as another image from Sam's mind made a swift appearance in his own; Dean's body, soaked through with blood, lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, and then a feeling of sick, pure horror.

He wished he could give Sam dreamless sleep. He wished he could knock him unconscious. He wished he could do something, but wishing did very little - and with how far Sam's illness had progressed, there were very few things left for Crowley to do other than try to keep Sam comfortable. Crowley felt like he was some kind of hospice caretaker.

The worst part was perhaps the fact that it all felt so familiar. Having to sit at both his parents' bedsides during his human life and watch them both inevitably waste away to nothing and eventually die... it was something that he wished he could've continued forgetting. But no, he wasn't so lucky. He was cursed with recalling his miserable human life, and apparently to repeat it as well.

Watching Sam die was worse than he ever expected it to be, especially given the fact that two weeks ago, a dying Sam Winchester would've had him jumping for joy.

Honestly, at this point, he was starting to lose any hope that Castiel and Dean would arrive back in time and have Gabriel in tow. Crowley was very close to dosing Sam with demon blood in some hopes of strengthening him, but even that would probably only buy Sam a few extra hours in the long run - a few more hours of suffering.

Crowley went to stand, intending to get Sam a new ice pack, since the one currently on his head was starting to turn to water, when he felt as though he was being flayed alive from the inside. Clutching his stomach, he dropped to his knees with a growl of agony. Blearily, he registered Sam arching on the bed, a scream building in his throat and then releasing as the agony tore through both demon and hunter alike.

His vision blurred; he was not only experiencing his own pain, but Sam's as well, and together, it was too much, like his body was being pulverized and put back together again, only to be melted by liquid fire. He coughed, and blood splattered on the floor. Crowley collapsed, unable to hold himself up, even on his knees.

 _"CROWLEY!"_ Sam shouted in his head, the Winchester's voice reverberating in his own mind. It sounded like a plea for mercy.

 _Get to Sam. You have to get to Sam._ He had no plan of what he would do once he reached him, but he knew that regardless, he had to lay hands on the hunter.

Sam's screams increased in volume, ringing in Crowley's ears, a high-pitched whine to accompany the torture currently dissecting him. Tears of agony burned in his eyes, hot blood dripped down his chin, but he managed to move forward, inch by inch, on his hands and knees.

He managed to make it to Sam's bedside, and he flung up a hand, and found Sam's forearm. He gripped it tightly - with its girth, he couldn't wrap his whole hand around it, but he could still hold on for dear life. He dug in his fingers, and he felt the feel of the pads of his sweat-soaked fingers as Sam felt them, felt his own pain as well as Sam's, felt two completely different sets of feelings, but both ultimately amount to _"Dear God make it stop!"_

He tried to use his powers, tried to knock Sam out again, tried to do anything, but he felt as though his demonic energy was locked behind a wall somewhere, far out of his reach.

_"You never left the Cage, Sam. You're still dead. You're still in here with me, just like you'll always be."_

That voice... Lucifer...? He must've been hearing it through his mental link to Sam.

Sam's bicep was so taut under his hand that it felt like he was gripping a stone. The youngest Winchester gasped something out that might've been, "Please." Crowley wasn't sure. All he knew was that if this pain didn't abate soon, he was going to have to leave his vessel, lest the agony drive him mad.

Then, finally, blissfully, it stopped. Just like that. Crowley sagged against the side of the bed, dragging in a sharp breath as relief seeped into his battered vessel. It hadn't been as long as the previous one, though it had been doubly painful. He was still holding onto Sam's arm, and he patted it.

"Moose? You alright?" he managed, voice hoarse and strained.

He received no response.

He realized with a thrill of terror that the skin under his hand felt cold.

"Sam," Crowley said, almost desperately. He forced himself to stand up, his legs unstable and shaky beneath him. He leaned over and patted Sam's cheek several times. There was still nothing but silence from the hunter. Reluctantly, he drew his hand back and slapped him hard across the face. Sam's head lolled to the side, but his eyelids didn't even flutter. "Sam!"

Crowley leaned down so that his ear hovered next to Sam's mouth. He heard no sounds of breathing from Sam, no inhales or exhales. Panic gripping him, his fingers fumbled along Sam's neck, searching for his pulse point. For one terrifying moment, he felt nothing, just clammy skin under his fingers, but then there was a thready beat - weak and barely there, but present all the same.

A heartbeat was all well and good, but humans had the unfortunate need for oxygen. Sam's lips were turning blue rather rapidly, and Crowley was utterly lost on what to do. He resigned himself to rescue breathing, which he technically had no idea how to do except for what he'd seen on TV. Thank Hell for all of those _House_ reruns.

He tipped the hunter's head back before bending down and sealing his mouth over Sam's. He pinched the youngest Winchester's nose shut and exhaled deeply into his mouth. He continued breathing for Sam for the next few minutes, expecting his lungs to begin functioning again with the extra help.

They didn't.

Crowley realized with a thrill of horror that Sam was most likely going to die (practically already dead, really), and there was very little he could do about it. Sam needed to be healed right this very moment, or it would be too late. He was barely holding on, and as soon as Crowley stopped breathing for him, his lungs would fail and he would die of asphyxiation.

Unless.

Oh, _unless_.

He could, potentially, do something utterly ridiculous that Sam would certainly hate him for, if he managed to survive this whole ordeal. It wasn't demon blood, because at this point, it wouldn't save him. It was too late for that, far too late. No, there was something he could do, but it was such a violation that he was fairly sure that it would earn him Ruby's knife buried in his chest.

However, Crowley decided in that instant that he would rather have a live Sam who detested him than a dead one who didn't. And he decided that, well... if he could save Sam, then whatever risks came with it were acceptable.

It was moments like this and thoughts of that nature that made him realize that he really didn't even know who he was, anymore. Gone was the demon who would perpetuate his own existence at all costs, replaced by whatever he was now... the mostly-demon who would lay his life down for a Winchester.

Identity crises could be saved for later, he decided; there were more pressing matters at hand.

 _Sorry, Moose,_ he apologized silently. He put his hand on Sam's chest, right over his heart, and managed to call on his powers. He burned through his shirt, incinerating it, then roasted away the skin where Sam's anti-possession tattoo was.

Then, instead of puffing another breath into Sam's mouth, he slid out of the mind and body of his vessel, detaching himself from its life force, and then released his essence into Sam's mouth, red smoke flowing from one to the other. His true form poured down Sam's throat and abandoned his meat suit, which fell away as soon as he smoked out of it.

There were a few moments where he lacked clarity as he transferred from one vessel to another before he was quickly hit by a wave of memories, feelings, and images. He was lost in the flood, overwhelmed by Sam - his identity, everything he ever was, and everything he had the potential to be.

A hand on his shoulder, the scent of gun powder and a deep scathing agony in every inch of him. A cold laugh and ice blue eyes. The smell of burnt human flesh. A knife burying itself in the base of his spine. A perfect smile and honey blonde hair. Fire everywhere. Two golden eyes and the sound of a woman screaming. Dogs barking in the distance. Blood - there was so much blood. Blood that had sunk into the Earth.

And a voice, sometimes childlike, sometimes the cracked up-and-down of a teenager, and sometimes deep as gravel, always saying, "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," over and over again, ringing throughout his entire life.

Crowley gasped, opening his eyes. He was Sam, now. His essence took up every inch of the hunter's body, invading, taking, _controlling_. He didn't want to do this to Sam. Crowley knew that being possessed was one of the most violating, disturbing experiences that a human could have, but something had to keep Sam from slipping off the edge. This was the only option, drastic though it may be.

He sat up, the entirety of Sam's body protesting rather violently as he did so. It felt odd to be in such a large, broad thing after being in his relatively small vessel for so many years. The small movement made black spots appear across his vision. Sam's body felt almost useless in his grasp, and it didn't respond well to his commands. Crowley allowed himself to fall back against the couch, wincing as every nerve in his stolen body seemed to cry out in agony.

With effort, Crowley turned Sam's head. His vessel was laying face down on the floor, now, still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. Crowley preferred to keep his vessels alive so he could leave them for a few hours here and there without them going all cold and stinking the place up. Crowley wasn't worried about his usual meat suit waking up, though. He'd kept Sullivan Sterling properly smothered for over fifty years. His conscience was barely present anymore, let alone strong enough to take back control of his currently not-possessed body.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get some air back into Sam's partly oxygen starved body. He searched Sam's mind, trying to find signs of the hunter's presence. Sam wasn't dead yet - he had to be in here somewhere.

 _"Sam?"_ Crowley called out to him, his voice echoing in the dark expanses of Sam's mind. Images began to form, and he found himself dragged away from physical reality.

Crowley blinked. He looked around; he was in the back seat of the Impala. He was in the form of his usual vessel, even though he knew he was still possessing Sam's body. Dean sat in the front seat, looking perfectly peaceful and whistling something vaguely familiar, and Sam was relaxed in the passenger seat with an open book in his lap.

Crowley leaned forward and tapped Sam's shoulder. Sam jumped, swiveling his head to look at Crowley. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Uh, Crowley, no offense, but I get enough of you in the day time. I'd like to keep my dreams to myself," he said, giving him an awkward half smile.

 _So, this is what you dream about, Sam?_ he wondered to himself as he looked over the Winchester's face. His skin was the proper color here. He didn't have to gasp for breath after every sentence, his gray eyes were clear and alert, and his hair was properly brushed and clean instead of lank and hanging in sweat-slicked strands on either side of his face.

He looked healthy. For the first time in far too long, he wasn't sick, and Crowley couldn't figure out why that was such a damn happy sight.

"You're not dreaming, Moose. You're dying." Perhaps a bit blunt, but he wasn't one to sugar-coat things.

Sam drew back, brow furrowing. "Define dying?"

"As in the only thing keeping you alive right now is the fact that I'm possessing you," he said in a rush. Might as well rip off the Band-aid as fast as possible.

"WHAT!?" Sam exclaimed loudly, and Crowley winced. "How could you-"

"Will you shut those luscious lips of yours for just a bloody minute?" Crowley cut across him. "It was either let you die, or possess you. I did what I had to do to keep you alive."

"Even if I died, Gabriel could just bring me back! You didn't have to possess me!"

"Oh, you make it sound so easy," Crowley snapped. "You die, your soul either goes up or down. Heaven's locked good and tight and Hell's under Abaddon's control. You die, you're gone. I - _we -_ won't be able to get you back."

Sam huffed, still looking anything but pleased. "So, what, you're just going to possess me until Dean and Cas get back?"

"That's the plan. And of course, I'm going to make sure you don't stop fighting. You have to keep yourself alive, Sam. I can't do everything."

"What do you mean? What is there for me to fight?" Sam asked, half angry, half perplexed. "The trials? I can't do anything about that. What do you expect me to do?"

Crowley leaned forward. "We have to get you conscious again. You and your mind need to be in the forefront. Me being inside of you-" Sam winced at the wording. "Keeps your heart beating and your lungs breathing, but that's not what constitutes living. The state you're in now, this is the state where reapers come. When a soul's teetering on the brink. If we don't get you back into your senses, your reaper's gonna come for you. Again."

"I'm afraid it's far too late for that, Mr. Crowley."

Crowley felt his blood freeze. There was someone beside him in the backseat. Sam's eyes and Crowley's both tracked reluctant paths to the newcomer. He was dressed in a neatly pressed suit black suit. He had short silver hair and dark blue eyes that betrayed the being's true age.

"Hello, Sam," he said in a deceptively soft voice. "It's been a long time."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. On the first plane and second plane, he appeared human. On the third plane, Crowley could see the skeleton with black cavernous eyes and bat-like wings. A reaper. He didn't recognize which one, as he'd really only acquainted himself with the reapers that had gone rogue.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, eyes widening. His hand went to the door handle. Dean had faded from his mind, now, and the Impala was no longer trundling along. It was stopped in the middle of a lonely backcountry road, the engine idling.

"We've met several times before now," he explained. "My name is Cecil, and I am your reaper. It's time, Sam."


	23. Another Brick in the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean is a teenager and Crowley wears tweed.

Dean opened his eyes, and he was hit by the strong smell of sweat and Old Spice. He looked around him. Yellow lockers were lined up next to each other, and a bench ran adjacent to them. The floor below him seemed to be made up of dirty tiles, and bright fluorescent lights shined over his head.

"The hell?" It looked like he was in a high school locker room. He pushed himself away from the wall he'd just been leaning against. His body felt... well, it felt _wrong_. He made his way around a corner to a line of sinks with fogged up mirrors hanging above them. He balled up one of his sleeves - he was wearing a different shirt now, one of thin, dark blue fabric - and rubbed some of the condensation off.

His reflection stared back at him, but it wasn't him. Well, it was... it seemed to be a sixteen year old version of himself. His bright green eyes, which now seemed too big for his face, widened in horror.

"Fucking _Gabriel_!" he hissed, turning away from the mirror. "Alright, come out, you winged douche monkey! I ain't playing!" He hated the fact that his voice cracked halfway through 'douche'. Great, he was in puberty again. That was just what he needed at a time like this.

"Dean? What are you screaming about?"

Dean turned to see a skinny boy who looked to be about the same age that Gabriel had turned him. He wore a white button down and tie, and he was standing far too stiffly for a teenager. He had a mess of black hair and bright blue eyes. He seemed vaguely familiar.

_Wait, maybe it's Cas! Did Gabriel go Degrassi on him, too?_

"Cas?" Dean asked tentatively. The other boy tilted his head in a bird-like fashion.

"Yes...?"

"Oh, thank God," Dean said. "At least Gabriel kept us together."

Cas's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Gabe. When he whisked us off to wherever the hell this is - I don't know, _Dawson's Creek_ or some shit - he didn't separate us," he elaborated.

Cas still looked lost. "Uh, what exactly did my brother do?"

Dean sighed. "Dude, are you being slow on purpose?"

The ex-angel seemed taken aback. "No! You're the one who's acting like a maniac," he told him. "Come on, we need to get to class. If you're late again, Mr. Turner's going to call your father, and I'm pretty sure you don't want that."

"My father? Cas, what..." Realization then dawned on Dean, and he slapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh, crap."

"What is it?"

"You're not Cas," he said, even though he knew this version of his friend wouldn't understand him.

"Of course I am-"

"Catch you later," Dean told the double, brushing past him. He needed to find a pine stake, ASAP. He was sure that Gabriel had mojo'd away all of his weapons when he'd put him here, but that didn't mean he couldn't find one in this universe to stab him with.

He wasn't in the mood for games. Not when Sam's life was hanging by a thread.

"Dean, wait!" He heard footsteps behind him, and teenage Castiel fell into step beside him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with _me_ ," Dean insisted. "It's this universe that's wrong. Especially you. You as a teenager, that's just... that's just _weird_ , man."

"I can't really help what age I am...? Are you drunk, or something?"

"If only I could be so lucky," Dean said as they exited the boy's locker room and stepped out into a long hallway lined with normal lockers. Dean sniffed the air - school smell mixed with tacos. They must be near the cafeteria. Dean halted, trying to think of where he could get a stake.

"Dean-" Cas began, but Dean cut across him.

"I have a car, right? A Chevy Impala?"

Cas blinked. "Yeah, of course-"

"Great. Take me to it." If teenage Cas was going to insist on following him around, he might as well make himself useful. Dean didn't know what Gabriel was playing at here, and he was pretty damn sure he didn't want to know, but he had to use this universe to his advantage. At least he wasn't back in TV Land... or stuck getting killed over and over again in a permanent loop.

Cas watched him for a few moments. "Don't you know how to get to the parking lot?"

"Humor me."

"Fine," he huffed out. This version of Cas was a lot bitchier, he noticed. His friend began traipsing down the hall, and Dean tailed him down several hallways before they reached a set of double glass doors. After glancing over his shoulder surreptitiously, Cas pushed through the doors. Dean followed after him.

They stepped out onto the pavement of a large parking lot. "Student parking's in the northwest corner, in case you've forgotten that, too," Cas told him. Dean nodded, and the pair began weaving their way through the maze of cars. Soon, Dean saw the shiny black surface of the Impala in the distance, and he picked up his pace.

"At least Baby's the same," he muttered under his breath.

"Is there any particular reason you need to get into your car in the middle of the day?" Castiel inquired. Dean paused once they reached the Impala.

"Shit. Keys." He searched the pockets of his jeans (which were way too tight for his liking - did kids seriously wear 'em like this, these days?) and found the keys in his back pocket. He stepped around to the back, opening up the trunk. There was a bag of football gear inside, a pair of underwear, and a math textbook. He fumbled around the bottom of the trunk for the secret latch that opened up to the armory, but there was nothing.

Just a normal Impala with a normal, weaponless trunk. Dean slammed the lid shut with perhaps unnecessary force. So, that was out of the question. "Think," he said, completely to himself. "Where can I get wood?"

Castiel tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned. The other boy just looked worried, now. "There's something not right with you," he said, voice laced with concern.

"Yeah, friggin' tell me about it," he replied distractedly. "Wood, wood..."

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you... but now I'm even more worried about bringing it up, because you're acting insane..."

"Uh-huh, yeah..." He wasn't really paying attention to what Cas was saying. Bigger fish to fry, at the moment.

" _Dean_."

Dean turned around. "Damn it, Cas, _what_?" He should've just been ignoring Cas at this point - he was just a figment of Gabriel's imagination, anyway - but he couldn't help but acknowledge him, given that it was still, at least to some degree, Cas.

Suddenly, soft hands were framing his face and warm lips were pressed against his. He sucked in a harsh breath through his nose, his eyes falling shut by reaction. Then, his brain caught up and he realized that _holy shit Cas was kissing him!_

His eyes snapped open and he pushed the other boy away. Cas's cheeks were bright red. Dean searched for something to say, but he ended up just standing there with his mouth open, looking like an idiot.

"How - why - that's not - _what_?" Dean couldn't find anything coherent to say.

"I love you, Dean Winchester. I've loved you since I started tutoring you in algebra our freshman year, and I know that you're the captain of the football team and I'm just a nerdy choir kid, but I don't care - I love you, and I'm sick of hiding it," Cas said, thoroughly impassioned.

Dean craned his neck to look at the sky, then pointed a finger at the clouds. "Go fuck yourself, Gabe."

"Why do you keep bringing up my brother?" Cas snapped, looking incredibly frustrated. "I just confessed my love for you, and that's your reaction? I expected rejection but... you're just acting crazy!" Cas grabbed him by the shoulders. "Come on, Dean, I need to know if you feel the same way. This has been eating away at me for so long... I need you to say something!"

Dean just stared at Cas, because this was wrong on so many levels. Cas kissing him, Cas saying he loved him - especially screwed up given the fact that this was a sixteen year old Cas who he had twenty years on, even if he was stuck in the body of a sixteen year old as well. Why would Gabriel conjure up this universe? What kind of amusement would he get out of this?

Oh, and why wasn't he pushing Cas away again? He was leaning closer. "Dean, if you don't say something, I'm going to kiss you again," Cas said slowly.

He couldn't think of words. It wasn't his fault. After a pause, Cas's lips were on his again, pressing more forcefully this time, and his lips were kind of chapped but it didn't really feel all that different from kissing a girl - oh God, he was kissing back, when the hell did he start doing that?

Before he could analyze his possible oncoming sexual identity crisis, a sudden idea hit him, and he broke away from Cas. "Wood shop!" he declared, before tearing off in the direction of the school.

"Dean! Where are you going?"

"Keep up, man! Wood shop!" Dean called over his shoulder. "Which way?"

"It's by the gym, why-"

"Come on," he said, grabbing Cas by the shoulder and dragging him along and then pushing the teenage version of his friend in front of him. "Lead the way."

"You've lost it."

"Just have a little faith, Cas," he said, and the other boy rolled his eyes before jogging through the parking lot and back to the school with Dean hot on his heels.

A few minutes later, they were both catching their breath in front of the double doors that led to the 'tech ed' room. Why did they have to give all the normal classes stupid names, nowadays? Dean peered through the windows. No one was inside.

"Mr. Singer's on his lunch break, I think," Cas told him. "The door's probably locked."

_Bobby's a woodshop teacher? Okay, I can buy that._

"Locks aren't a problem," Dean replied, bending down on one knee in front of the door. "You got a paperclip or something?"

"You're not seriously going to break in-"

"Yeah, I seriously am. Paperclip." He held out a hand towards Cas, who sighed heavily before rooting around in his binder for a moment. He retrieved a paperclip and handed it to Dean.

"If I get suspended for this, it's your fault," Cas said.

"Well, you love me, so it's okay, right?" Dean asked. Cas loving him. Gabriel must be on some kind of funny pills. Sure, Cas loved him in the normal way - they were like family - but in the romantic way? Hell no. Plus, Cas was straight. He made out with Meg, right? And when he forgot who he was, he was married to a chick.

Yeah. This was just Gabriel tripping balls, or something. It was the only explanation.

"Oh, so you're going to use that against me, now?" Cas asked, crossing his arms indignantly. Dean rolled his eyes before he took the paperclip and bent it into the proper shape. He inserted the bent tip into the lock and began working on the tumbler. After about two minutes, he heard the familiar click, and the door swung open.

"Sweet," Dean said, standing up and putting the paperclip in his pocket. "Come on."

"Where did you learn to pick locks that quickly?" Cas asked incredulously.

"Picked it up somewhere along the way," Dean said airily as he entered the tech ed room. He looked around. The room was large. There were wooden tables with stools where he assumed the kids sat at, then a slew of machines - planers and band saws, etcetera - and then there were piles of wood stacked in one corner of the room. "Bingo," he said.

He made his way over to the woodpile, Cas following close behind. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about? Or are you going to keep me guessing as to what type of drugs you're on?"

"Damn, I'm glad you were never a teenager," Dean commented. "You're kind of a bitch." He then started rifling through the school's supply of wood. "Maple... beech... oak... ha, got it!" He lifted out a long plank of pine. "Gonna need a little work, but I think I just found my way out."

"Way out of where!?"

"This universe," Dean said. "Go push something in front of the door, will you? I don't want anyone coming in here." He made his way over to the band saw. "This'll only take a sec."

"Do you even know how much trouble you'll get in-"

"Don't care!" he said, hitting the red button next to the largest band saw and ignoring the big sign with all of the warnings on it about safety goggles and not operating it without supervision. The thin little blade began vibrating and the machine groaned as it turned on. Dean sliced off a solid five feet of the board before cutting the tip into something that would at least be able to stab through flesh and organs. It was jagged and rough around the edges, but it would certainly get the job done.

"So, Cas," Dean said after he turned off the machine. Cas hadn't blocked the door, but he was standing in front of it, occasionally glancing nervously out the windows and into the hallway. "Your brother, Gabe... is he here?"

Cas nodded. "Yes. Why wouldn't he be?"

"What class is he in right now?"

"It's seventh period so... I think he has Anatomy with Mr. Crowley."

He snorted. Of course Crowley would teach the fucking Anatomy class. He certainly knew more about what went where on a human body than any decent person had any right to know.

"Awesome. What floor is that on?"

"The third... Dean, what are you-"

Dean pushed Cas out of the way and slipped through the doors. He had a feeling that fake-Cas wouldn't want to see his brother get stabbed through the middle. Granted, Gabriel in this universe might not actually _be_ Gabriel, but the archangel did have the tendency to hide in plain sight, so it was the best place to start.

He sprinted down the hallway, taking a few weird turns so he would lose Cas, who he knew was chasing after him. He found a back stairwell and followed it up to the third floor.

Dean followed along the corridor, looking for the classroom labeled 'Anatomy'. This appeared to be the floor that all the science classes were on. Finally, he came to the Anatomy classroom. He opened the door and walked into the classroom without bothering to knock. Benefit of alternate universe - no consequences. No lasting ones, anyway.

Crowley was at the board, dressed in a tweed jacket, sweater, and khakis instead of his usual suave all-black getup. Weird. He didn't even know why Gabriel would put Crowley in this - did they even know each other? Crowley turned when the door opened.

"Winchester, why are you in my classroom? And why do you have a piece of wood?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at him. Dean ignored him, looking through the students. He recognized two.

"Dean?" a small boy in the front row asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Sammy," Dean breathed out. He looked like he was about fourteen or fifteen - which didn't make any sense, since he was pretty sure he was only sixteen or seventeen, tops.

"I repeat, why-"

"I'm looking for Gabriel," Dean said, cutting across Crowley. Just as he said this, his eyes settled on the archangel. Or at least, what a teenage version of his vessel would look like. Although the curly blond-brown hair threw him off, the cocky expression and amber eyes were unmistakably Gabriel.

"What? Did I do something?" Gabriel asked innocently.

"My little brother is dying, you dick," Dean growled without preamble. He moved forward, grabbed Gabriel by the collar, hauled him out of his seat, then without further ado, he drove the makeshift stake through his middle. There were gasps from around the classroom, a few screams.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "Stop! Stop, you're gonna kill him!"

"Good," Dean replied tersely. Gabriel choked, blood dripping down his chin, then went still. Dean let his body drop to the ground and waited for the fantasy to dissipate.

"You're losing your edge, Dean-o," Crowley called from behind him. Dean turned to look at him, and Crowley's form shimmered for a moment before he became the familiar figure of Gabriel. "Look, teenage me is adorable, I know, but you really think I would pretend to be myself? I mean, there's hiding in plain sight, and then there's just being stupid."

"You son of a-"

"Bitch?" Gabriel finished before tutting at him. "Still reusing the same old lines. Someone really needs to get you a thesaurus." He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the room was empty, leaving Dean alone with the archangel. Gabriel leaned against desk, a smug grin plastered on his features. "Let's chat, Dean."


	24. I'm Looking Through You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam and Crowley are on the run, and Crowley sees more than Sam wants him to.

Sam felt panic rising like ice water in his chest. No, no - he wasn't ready to go yet. He wasn't ready to die, to give up fighting. He wasn't going to get this far only to have the trials take him before he could be cured. He stared into the piercing blue of Cecil's eyes, and yes, this felt familiar. This all felt familiar.

 _Dying_ felt familiar.

"I'm not ready," Sam said, trying to reason with the reaper. "My brother will be back soon, he's found a way to fix me. I don't have to die."

"Sam, I believe we can both agree that your time is long over due," Cecil said serenely. "Please, don't make this more difficult than it has to be." He extended a hand towards Sam. "Just come with me."

Sam stared at the hand. No. He couldn't give up. Not yet. Sure, he'd reach Heaven, see his fallen loved ones, and the pain of the trials would finally be over after months of torment... but Dean would never forgive him if he tapped out now, after everything. And he wasn't about to leave his brother alone when war was raging on Earth. When Dean and Cas needed him by their side the most.

"I..."

" _Quod repraesentet se ab oculis meis in exsilium mortis_ ," Crowley said suddenly, a look of urgency on his face. In a flash of crimson light, Cecil was gone.

"What did you just do?" Sam asked, eyes widening.

"Banished your reaper. It's only temporary, and I'm not sure what it's supposed to accomplish, but it'll buy us time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to think!" Crowley snapped. "I could get you out of the bunker... teleport you somewhere..."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot. You're possessing me," Sam said, unable to hide his distaste.

He was at least mostly sure that Crowley meant him no harm, but after being possessed by Meg for a week straight, he never, _ever_ wanted to repeat the experience. There was no bigger breach of privacy, no worse a violation than someone taking over your own body, occupying your own mind without your permission.

"Yes, yes, you can hate me for that later," Crowley responded, waving him off. "I just have to work my way out of your subconscious and back to the helm, so to speak..."

"That's not going to do anything," Sam said. "The reaper's inside of my mind." A plan slowly began to develop in his head. "Crowley, we have to run."

"You do you realize that's what I'm _saying_ -"

"No, I mean we have to run in _here_. In my head. We have to outrun my reaper."

"Is that even possible?" Crowley asked, looking less than convinced.

"Bobby did it. Dick shot him straight in the head, but he managed to stay alive for over twenty four hours afterwards just by turning tail and running from his reaper. If we can stay ahead of it, we can stall until Dean and Cas find Gabriel," Sam explained quickly. If they were going to run, they needed to get going. He opened up the passenger side door of the Impala and got out.

It was autumn, outside of the car. Sam always loved the fall, all of the colors and the crisp, cool air. The designated safe place in his mind seemed perfectly tailored to make him content in every aspect.

And here he was, about to sprint away from it. Great plan.

Crowley got out of the backseat, looking at Sam like he might've gone insane. "This is the very definition of a long shot," the demon said.

"What other option do we have, Crowley?" Sam asked, turning to face him. "I'm not going to just lay down and... and die." He pursed his lips before whirling and heading swiftly down the lonely country road and away from his brother's beloved car. He didn't know where his own mind would lead him, but as long as it was away from his reaper, it didn't really matter.

He heard the demon mutter 'bollocks' behind him, then the sound of his loafers beating pavement. "Hold your horses, Moose, I'm coming with you." Crowley quickly fell into step beside Sam. "And by the way, you're not going to get anywhere loping around like that."

Crowley promptly tore off down the road, running faster than Sam thought him capable of. Then again, in spite of the age of his meat suit, Crowley did have demonic strength and stamina - he supposed it made sense.

Still, he wasn't about to be outstripped by someone wearing a middle-aged body. Not a chance. He raced after the demon, barely able to keep on his heels as they dashed down the road. _Man, he's a fast little bastard,_ he couldn't help but think. Apparently he'd accidentally let the thought slip through their link, if the look he earned from Crowley was any indication.

Suddenly, the entire world around them changed, and the two of them both crashed into a wall. With similar grunts, they were toppled.

"Well, appears we've gotten somewhere," Crowley said, pushing himself up. The demon looked behind Sam, and he froze. Sam turned to see what he was staring at.

Ruby in her original blonde meat suit, pinning him to the wall and kissing him.

But wait. It wasn't Ruby.

_Lilith._

The she-demon pulled back. "Your lips are soft."

The Sam that answered was a young one, couldn't be more than twenty-four. "Right, so you have me. Let my brother go." A younger Dean was nearby, splayed overtop of a table with a brilliant bruise slowly forming on his cheek and a cut over his eyebrow.

"Oh, God..." Sam recognized the memory. How couldn't he?

"Silly goose. If you want to bargain, you have to have something I want. You don't," Lilith said, smiling up at his younger self, who looked like he was about to crawl out of his skin.

"Is this-" Crowley began, but Sam cut him off.

"Yes."

"So, is this your big plan, huh? Drag me to Hell, kill Sam, and then what?" Dean asked hoarsely from the table. He was clearly in pain from Lilith's telekinetic hold on him. "Become queen bitch?"

"I don't have to answer to puppy chow," Lilith responded liltingly before leaving Sam and making her way to the nearby door. She opened it up. Sam could hear snarling, panting. He felt his stomach drop down to his toes, felt his blood freeze. He couldn't watch this happen, not again... "Sic 'em, boy!" Lilith called gleefully, and the goofer dust in front of the door was blown away.

The patter of clawed feet on wood; the younger versions of himself and his brother stared at each other in open horror. A moment later, his brother was dragged down to the floor with a yelp of agony. His right leg began spurting blood, ripped open by invisible claws.

Dean screamed. He flipped over onto his stomach in an attempt to protect himself. His shoulder was torn open next.

"No, stop!" Sam yelled, and he realized he screamed it in unison with his younger self. He had to go to his brother, had to help him. At the moment, his mind couldn't register that this wasn't actually happening. He was free this time, he could help him, he could save him-

Crowley put out an arm to bar his progress. "There's nothing you can do for him, Sam. This was eight years ago." He nodded towards the backdoor of the house. "We need to keep going."

"STOP IT!" his younger self screamed desperately. Dean was on his back again, and he flailed as the hound's claws gored his chest.

Crowley turned him away forcibly, and Sam closed his eyes, trying to remember that Dean was alive. He was alive, alright, and safe. He was with Cas. Cas, who pulled him out of Hell. Everything was fine. He repeated this information inside of his head like a mantra, trying to convince himself to walk away from his dying brother.

Crowley's hand on his back guided him forward. "Come on."

The two of them headed through the backdoor, accompanied by his brother's dying screams and Lilith's shrill laughter. Once they were through the door, both sounds ceased. They weren't outside Pontiac in spring, like he expected, but rather in an old house that he just barely recognized. One of the foreclosed properties his father had snatched up to use as a safe house.

They were in New Jersey, then.

His father was sitting at a rickety dining table, face red, fuming. Several empty bottles of beer sat on the table. Dean hovered in the background, lips pursed, looking like he was going to be sick.

Yes, Sam remembered this. They'd just finished up a ghoul hunt.

It was 2001.

Late summer, 2001.

The night he left for Stanford.

His younger self was on the opposite side of the table, staring at his hands. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to say that you're not walking out on your family," John growled. "I want you to forget this whole Stanford thing. It's idiotic, Sam. You know you can't live a life like that."

"No." Sam shook his head. " _You_ can't live a life like that. _I_ can. I don't want this, Dad! I never wanted any of this!"

"Life isn't about getting what you want. It's about getting what you get and making the best of it," John responded, tightening his grip on his bottle before taking a long drink of it.

"Dad, maybe this is a conversation you want to be sober for," Dean suggested quietly, not looking at either his father or his brother.

Sam gulped. He remembered when he'd briefly stumbled upon this night in Heaven, and Dean told him that it had been one of the worst nights of his life. Going by the look on Dean's face, he could believe it.

"I am sober," John snapped. "Sam, there're what, maybe a hundred hunters in the States? And that's being generous. You're skilled, you know what you're doing, and you want to just walk away from it? Let innocent people die?"

"I want to live my life!" his younger self said, thrusting himself out of his seat, his palms flat on the wooden table. "I don't want to spend it in crap motel rooms hunting monsters! I want to - to get married, have kids, have a career! A house, a dog, whatever it is that normal people have that I've never had. I want it! I don't want this!"

"Don't pretend that this is about anything other than you being afraid! This is you running away, Sam, and you know that this isn't right. You _know it_."

Crowley snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face, jarring him from the memory. He looked at the demon, who was arching an eyebrow at him. "Do you really need to watch this?"

Sam shook his head. "No," he said. "Let's keep moving." Sam walked around the table as his younger self jumped out of his chair.

"I've spent my entire life doing the right thing! For once, once in my friggin' life, I want to be selfish!" he shouted.

Sam made a beeline for the door. This was the night that he was freed from his father's overbearing presence. Free of the responsibility of the family business... of being a hero. He never wanted to be a hero. He didn't sign up for it, he didn't volunteer. He was forced into a life of movement, a life of danger and sacrifice. When he was eighteen, he didn't want any of it.

Who would have thought that fifteen years later, he would be doing exactly what his father wanted him to do - giving up everything, taking hit after hit, just so he could be a hunter and do the _right thing_. The worst part of it all was that if his father was still here, he still wouldn't be satisfied. He wouldn't see the good that he'd done, the sacrifices he'd made, or the fact that he and Dean had saved the world over and over again. He wouldn't see all of the impossible situations they'd been thrown into and somehow dug their way out of, all of the people they'd lost in the process.

No, John would look at him and see a demon blood junkie. He would see the kid that ran off to Stanford and left his family. The kid that jump-started the apocalypse. The kid that, when faced with shutting the Gates of Hell forever, stopped just short of the end and condemned the world to a full-on demon and angel war.

He tried to clear his thoughts. He didn't want to think about this now. Or ever, for that matter.

He pushed through to the porch, breathing in cool night air. However, he and Crowley weren't on a porch. They were in a field. In the distance, Sam saw the Impala. He and Crowley walked towards it, both of them silent. Sam felt as though he was far too exposed right now; Crowley was getting an all expenses paid pass to his memories, his life, all while inhabiting his body.

Not even two weeks ago, Crowley was asking for Abaddon to let him go so he could kill Sam himself. Now he was seeing him laid bare and exposed with no walls to protect him. Their mental link and the demon king's strangely protective behavior over the past few weeks aside, it felt like an invasion. He didn't give everything to anyone, and having the option to hide or deceive taken from him made him feel naked and unprotected.

Sam hid himself because he knew full-well that if people saw everything, they would not like what they saw.

Crowley and Sam stopped when they reached the hood of the Impala. Sam heard muffled voices nearby. After a moment, he identified one as his own, and one as Dean's. Then a third... Cas's?

"I'm just saying that I don't understand what's so appealing about it," Cas said. Sam turned his head, walking towards the voices with Crowley on his heels. After a few seconds, he saw himself and his brother, and then Cas, all laying down on their backs and staring up at the sky. He craned his neck as well. It was a beautiful night out. The sky was clear and a vibrant dark blue, every star and planet on display with perfect clarity.

"Your dad made the whole shebang, Cas, can't you admire it for a couple minutes?" Dean asked, exasperated. Sam remembered this, now. It was a few months after the apocalypse started. They'd been heading to Bobby's, but they weren't in any particular rush, and it had been a nice night out... they'd stopped to look up at the stars, just like he and Dean had been doing since they were kids. Only this time, Cas was with them.

"It's just the sky. You've seen it every night of your lives, haven't you?"

"Yeah, but you can't always see it like this," he heard himself say. "A lot of stuff tends to get in the way."

"Really lovely Hallmark moment you've got here, Moose, but... where do we go from here?" Crowley asked. Sam sighed, looking around. He didn't really know which direction to head in. Should they get in the Impala? It seemed like the only logical course of action.

"There is nowhere to go from here." Sam's blood chilled, and as one, he and Crowley turned to face Cecil, who didn't seem to be as calm as he was the last time he appeared. "You are only staving off the inevitable, Sam. You need to come with me. I will find you no matter where you go."

Sam backed up until he hit the hood of the Impala, Crowley mirroring his movements. "No. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm not done yet!"

 _"Banish him again, what are you waiting for!?"_ he shouted in his mind, putting the proper force behind it so he was sure that Crowley would hear him through their link.

"Reaper banishing only works once a lunar cycle," Crowley said out of the corner of his mouth. "Probably should've mentioned that earlier."

"You think!?"

"Sam." Cecil encroached closer, his inhumanly pale blue eyes pinning him. "You've fought for so hard and so long. It's time for you to rest."

"No," Sam repeated. "No - not after all of this, I'm not giving up. I don't care how broken down I am, I'm not going with you."

"I don't want to force you."

"Lucky then that you won't have to," Crowley said, choosing this moment to act. He lashed out a hand and growled, _"Incendia, interitum nos protegat!"_

Bright orange-red fire shot out of Crowley's palm, and the damp grass in front of them was swallowed in a split second, and the flames were spreading like... well, wildfire, forming a barrier between the two of them and Cecil. Crowley wrapped his free hand around Sam's wrist, his inhumanly warm skin shocking him into movement as he dragged Sam backwards.

"Come on!" He practically shoved Sam towards the driver's side door. He then slid over the back end and opened up the passenger side door, throwing himself in. "Drive!" Crowley commanded.

Sam turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. He put the car in reverse, then slammed his boot down on the gas pedal. They were roaring backwards and away from the flames, which were still spreading, eating away at the field, hiding Cecil and the younger versions of himself, Dean, and Cas from view.

"What the hell was that? What did you do?" Sam asked, breathing hard. He pulled a one eighty so the Impala was facing the proper direction, then took the car out of reverse. He slammed the gas again, and they were almost back to the rural highway. That had to be their way out of this particular memory.

"Fiendfyre. Impossible to quench, very dangerous to anything short of a demon. It won't kill Cecil, but it'll get in his way, at least. Everything's about stalling, now," Crowley explained, leaning out the window to look behind them. "Oh, not good. Very not good."

"What? What is it?"

"Look around you." Sam took his eyes off the road for a moment to examine the passing scenery. He saw trees. Trees and fog, lots of it, in roiling clouds. It was slowly seeping onto the road, and he couldn't see the sky anymore. It was a murky cloud of gray.

"There's fog. What does fog mean?"

Crowley looked at him, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say there was fear in the demon's dark green eyes. "It means that everything's beginning to fall apart. Your mind is collapsing in on itself."


	25. That Old Familiar Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel is a benevolent dick, and Crowley must save Sam from himself.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Gabriel said. "It's been forever, hasn't it? Hell, last time I saw you..." The archangel made a face. "Oh, right, the last time I saw you, I died. Happy memories, right?"

"Can it, Gabriel," Dean ground out, his patience worn down to barely a thread at this point. "How long have you been back?"

"Ooh, testy. And I've been back since Cas turned Raphael into a bloody splatter on the wall," Gabriel informed him, crossing his arms. A flicker of something crossed his face - that ancient rage that Dean remembered catching a few glimpses of when the angel was still alive. The kind of anger that could only mean family. "Apparently there has to be an arch around. Something about balance in the universe."

"Cas ganked Raphael almost three years ago."

"And?"

 _"And!?"_ Dean repeated, incredulous. "We could've used your help with the Leviathans! And with Crowley, this past year!"

Gabriel put on a look of mock confusion. "I'm sorry, did I miss the part where I owe you something?"

"What happened to fighting for humanity?" When he'd last seen Gabriel, he'd been ready to give himself over to the cause of fighting for mankind. He was ready to go to war against both of his big brothers. What changed?

Gabriel encroached on Dean, narrowing his gold eyes at him. "I seem to remember getting an angel blade through the heart last time I did humanity a solid."

"So that's it? You've just sat back this whole time?"

"Yep. Enjoyed it too. If you've got a problem, well, bite me. I've been living it up. Plus, you and yours seemed to have dealt with all of the problems that have come your way just fine."

"You call getting locked in Purgatory for a year _fine_?" Dean asked.

Gabriel waved him off. "You got out. No harm done."

Dean began stalking towards Gabriel. He had enough of this. He grabbed the archangel by the front of his tweed jacket, lifting him a few inches off of the ground. He seemed thoroughly nonplussed - maybe even a little amused.

"Really, Dean?" Gabriel smirked. "Violence is never the answer, you know."

"Well, we're about to test that theory-"

Gabriel rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers. Dean's eyes seemed to close off of their own volition, and then a moment later they opened. He shivered. They were in a freezer of some variety. Boxes were stacked around him, some labeled Rocky Road, other's labeled 'chocolate' and 'strawberry'. Were they back in the Heavenly Scoop?

Gabriel leaned against the wall, looking perfectly warm and now dressed in normal attire, his teacher get-up gone. He lapped at a vanilla ice cream cone, then offered it to Dean. "Lick?"

"Go to hell."

Gabriel shrugged, then went back to his ice cream. "You're too serious, Dean," Gabriel said. "See, this is why I always liked playing with ickle Sammykins better."

Dean made a move to go after Gabriel again, but found an arm barring his progress. He looked to his side to see Cas standing next to him. He breathed out a sigh of relief, which was visible in the icy air of the freezer.

"Cas, you're okay," he said, and he faintly wondered what crazy world Gabriel threw Cas into, considering the one he'd just found himself in. Hopefully Cas had been whisked away to somewhere a little less teenage-y and gay. "What kind of mojo did he pull on you?"

Maybe it was just the cold, but Cas blushed. "I - I would rather not discuss it just now," Cas said, before turning his eyes to his brother. "Gabriel, we need your assistance."

"I know all about Sam and the trials," the archangel stated, almost dismissively. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that you've been trying to track me down so you could ask me to fix the littlest Winchester."

Dean licked his lips nervously. This was it. If they couldn't convince Gabriel to help them, then... end of the line. He didn't know what the hell else they could do. He hated the fact that _Gabriel_ of all people was their last resort. He wasn't exactly reliable.

"Yeah," Dean said lowly. "Sam... he's in really bad shape. We don't know how long he can last... and we're thinking that you're the only one who might be able to help him."

"Well, you're right on the money there," Gabriel said with a brief smile. "Sammy boy's in serious trouble." He finished his ice cream, then chucked the cone into a nearby trash can. "Question is... will I help you or not?"

"Brother, please," Cas pleaded. "Sam doesn't deserve to die, you have to know that."

"Yeah, well, haven't we all learned that life isn't about getting what you deserve?" Gabriel asked, some of his humor fading. "It's about getting what you get, and dealing with it."

No. Gabriel couldn't turn them down, not now. Not when they were so close. He didn't come all this way just to find out that he wouldn't help Sam. He pursed his lips, fighting back the wave of emotion that was threatening to drown him. He couldn't lose Sam. Not again. He _couldn't_.

"Gabe," Dean said. "He's my little brother. I can't..." His voice broke, which he privately cursed himself for. "I can't watch him die. I can't lose him."

Gabriel watched him for a long moment, seeming contemplative. Finally, he let out a brief sigh, and his expression softened somewhat. "I'll tell you what. I'll do you a favor - you _did_ technically save the planet, so I guess I owe you one. I'll fix up Sam, good as new."

Dean closed his eyes briefly as relief washed over him. The knot that had been in his chest for months seemed to loosen - though it wouldn't disappear fully until Sam was healed. "Thank you," he said, and he meant it.

"Send the chocolates and flowers later. You two have been trapped in my fun little Destiel land for over two days-"

"WHAT!?" Sam could be dead by now, for all they knew! _No, he's not dead, I would feel it. I'd know!_

"-so I'd say we probably should get over to your Bat Cave ASAP," Gabriel finished. He decided not to ask how Gabriel knew about the Men of Letters bunker.

Cas's brow furrowed. "What is a Destiel?"

Gabe snorted. "You guys need to get on the internet more - let's just say those _Supernatural_ books have a pretty dedicated following. Did you know the last forty-four were published online about two years back by someone named Samlicker87? Everyone _really_ liked the new apocalypse arc," he said, giving them a wink before he put hands on both of their shoulders.

A second later, they were gone.

* * *

"Drive faster!"

"Um, Crowley, I don't know exactly how this whole running from death thing works, but I have a feeling that driving an imaginary car in my head faster probably isn't going to help us that much. We have to find where the hell we're supposed to go to throw us into my next memory."

Crowley peered out the window, licking his lips. It was strange to see the demon so anxious. "Wait. Over there." He pointed a finger to the right. Sam narrowed his eyes, and he saw a faint light through the thick fog that permeated his mind. There was a turn-off coming up on the road.

"Shouldn't we _avoid_ going into the light?" Sam asked, but he was already turning the wheel. Once they were onto the adjacent road, the source of the light came into view; it was a motel. Sam pulled into the parking lot. There were no other cars. He glanced up at the sign. They were at The Cold Spring Inn.

"Do you remember this?" Crowley asked.

"Cold Spring..." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. It sounds familiar." He turned off the Impala and stepped outside. It was a warm night, spring, probably, and a sliver of a moon hung in the sky. "I guess we should go in."

"Lead on," Crowley said, exiting the Impala as well and falling into step next to him. "This is your show, after all."

"Yeah," Sam responded dimly. He pushed through the front door of the motel, into the lobby. There was no one inside. "Crowley, can you do me a favor?"

"Depends."

"If we actually make it out of this..." He trailed off as he made his way to the elevator. "Please, just, keep your mouth shut about anything you've seen inside of my head, okay?"

"And why would I do that, Moose?" Crowley asked, tilting his head. "Embarrassed by something?"

"There's a lot of crap in here," Sam answered vaguely. "I... I don't want people to see the crap. I didn't want you to see it, but now I don't really have a choice in the matter."

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. "Crap?" he repeated. "I haven't seen _crap_ , Sam. I've just seen _you_. And..." The demon looked away. "I haven't seen anything wrong, or - or bad."

"Well, prepare yourself," Sam said, dread pooling in his stomach. He hit the button for the elevator. "Because I just figured out where we are."

The elevator doors slid open, and the two of them stepped inside. Sam hit the button for the fifth floor. The label next to the button listed the Penthouse, Presidential, Deluxe, and Honeymoon suites.

"Taking me to the honeymoon suite, Moose? You should at least buy me a drink first," Crowley commented, and Sam saw it for what it was - an attempt to brush off his unease at his last statement. Sam pursed his lips, not responding. He was bracing himself for what he was about to see.

They arrived at the fifth floor, and they stepped out into the shag carpeted hallway. Everything smelled faintly of cigarette ash. "Last door on the left," Sam said. Crowley nodded, and they made their way to the door. After a brief pause, Sam opened it and went into the honeymoon suite, Crowley right behind him. The door drifted shut.

"-you can't, you're not strong enough," he heard himself say. In the center of the surprisingly tastefully decorated room stood himself and Dean, facing off against one other. Both of them were tense, shoulders drawn back. If they were cats, their hackles would be raised.

"And who the hell are you?" Dean asked, taking a step closer.

"I'm being practical here. I'm doing what needs to be done."

"Yeah? You're not gonna do a single damn thing," Dean growled, jaw twitching. His brother was beyond pissed. It was actually moments like this that Dean reminded Sam of their father. The hard line of the jaw, the curled lip, the voice that held a threat in every syllable.

Sam suppressed a shudder.

"Stop bossing me around, Dean," his younger self said. "Look, my whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you're my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, to trust _me_." Even though his eyes were dilated to the point that he could barely see the gray of his own irises, he could still see the pleading note hiding in them.

"No," Dean said, shaking his head adamantly. "You don't know what you're doing, Sam."

"Yes, I do," his double responded.

Dean swallowed with effort. "...Then that's worse."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "Why? Look, I'm telling you-"

"Because it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are!" Dean interrupted him. "It means-" Dean broke off, unable to finish his thought. Tears built in Sam's eyes just as they did in the eyes of his younger self.

"What? No, say it!" he demanded.

Dean looked up at him, lip trembling. His bright green eyes were shining in the dim light of the motel room. "It means you're a monster."

After a moment, Sam nodded. A tear slipped out of Dean's eye, traced down his cheek. His brother wasn't angry anymore. He probably wasn't even sad - he was just in pain. Unbearable pain.

He punched Dean hard in the face; he went down in a flash. Clutching his face, Dean rose again on wobbly legs. Seeming resigned, he punched his younger brother. Dean tackled the younger Sam through one of the partitions, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Sam gulped, looking down at his feet. He'd done a lot of shady things in his life. He'd screwed up - over and over again, really - but above anything, above starting the apocalypse, getting addicted to demon blood, not looking for Dean in Purgatory, failing to close the Gates of Hell - all of it paled in comparison to this day, this moment.

The moment where he turned his back on his brother. The moment where he turned into the monster he'd always been terrified of becoming.

"Bloody hell," Crowley said from beside him. "Anyone ever tell you that you've got a great right hook?"

Sam just shook his head. "I don't know where to go from here," he said quietly.

"I know you've been distracted by the brotherly angst, but if you'd direct your attention to the glaringly out of place steel door to your left..." Sam lifted his head, and Crowley was right. There were double steel doors next to the king-sized bed. "I'm going to hazard a guess that those weren't here your first time through?"

More sounds of commotion from the other side of the room; from what he could hear, this was the part where he pinned Dean down with his knees and began choking him. He resisted the urge to throw up. Sam walked towards the door on legs that seemed incapable of supporting his weight.

"You don't know me."

He gulped, and his mouth felt dry, like it was full of sand.

"You never did."

He and Crowley stopped in front of the large door. His skin suddenly felt chilled.

"You never will."

Dread filled him as he heard the door to the motel room open.

"You walk out that door..." Dean called, his voice wrecked from lack of oxygen. "Don't you _ever_ come back."

The door slammed shut.

Sam closed his eyes, and he felt a tear trace down the side of his face, leaving an itching trail of moisture behind.

When he opened them, he took a deep breath and tried to center himself. He laid a hand on the steel door. He stared at it, hesitant for unknown reasons, and then suddenly, all he could hear was laughter. Cold, high laughter. Crowley didn't seem to hear it, but it was ringing in his ears like an air raid siren. He felt his blood practically freeze, and when he let out a shaky breath, it came out as a visible puff.

He backed away from the door, almost crashing into Crowley in his urgency to get away from it. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. In spite of the cool air around him, he could swear that he could smell smoke... and burning human flesh, as well.

Crowley put a hand on his shoulder, and the simmering heat of the demon's palm jarred him back to reality. Sam turned his head so he could meet Crowley's questioning gaze. Sam felt himself shaking. Everything inside of him was screaming for him to run, to run far and run fast.

_I can't go back there!_

"What is it, Moose?" Crowley asked. "You look like you're about to have a fit."

Sam just shook his head and pinched his eyes shut. He had to calm himself down. He couldn't risk falling apart, not now. "We have to find another way out of here," he said as steadily as he could manage.

Crowley gave him a searching look before releasing his shoulder and heading towards the motel room door that his younger self had just walked out of. Sam found himself missing the warmth. Crowley pulled open the other door, and outside of it, there was nothing but a murky gray mire.

"There's nowhere else to go from here," Crowley told him. "Your mind is slipping apart at the seams. Even with me inside of you, you won't last much longer."

"You haven't even been possessing me for that long!"

"Time passes differently when you're locked inside of you own head - or in my case, someone else's head. What feels like an hour or two in here could be days or even weeks out there," the demon explained. "Point is, you're hanging on by your fingertips, mate."

"Well, we're just going to have to stay here, then," Sam said thickly, turning his back on the steel door. "What else have you got up your sleeve that can stall Cecil?"

"I've used up my bag of tricks when it comes to reapers. When he comes back, he's taking you with him when he leaves. He'll be prepared for fiendfyre now, I won't be able to catch him by surprise. And, like I said, the banishing only works once a lunar cycle. We have to keep moving."

"No!" Sam said, much more forcefully than he meant to. "No. We can't go through this door."

"It's either keep going, or you die," Crowley said bluntly. It seemed the demon was beginning to lose his patience - not that he had much to begin with. "What could be so bad that you'd rather die than face it?"

Sam gulped, refusing to meet the demon's eyes. "I can't go through there, Crowley," he said simply. "I can't."

Crowley narrowed his eyes, and then a look of understanding donned on his features. "It's the Cage, isn't it?" the demon asked softly. "Lucifer's behind that door."

 _"You don't get it, Crowley,"_ Sam said in his mind, not sure if he would be able to physically say the words. _"I can't choose to go back there. I can't face it all again. I'm not strong enough... I know I'm not strong enough."_

"It's your only option," Crowley said, his dark green eyes drilling into Sam's. "All roads lead to Hell, darling." He took a few steps towards Sam. "You've been living with these memories for years. Is it really so hard for you to face it all head on?"

"I barely remember the Cage - just flickers here and there - when Cas took all of it into himself, he cleaned house pretty well."

"Took it into himself? Cas? What the devil are you talking about, pardon the pun?"

Right, Crowley didn't know about that. "That's why Cas went insane once Dean found him and he got his memories back. He knew that I was going to die if someone didn't kick Satan out of my head. The only way to do that was to shift everything I was carrying around in the Cage into himself."

Crowley's eyebrow raised. "And here I thought it was just the guilt that drove him mad. Nevertheless, that doesn't change the bottom-line - if you don't go through that door, you're going to die."

Sam couldn't think of a way to respond. There was no argument here, no defense.

He just _couldn't do it_.

"That's it, then?" Crowley asked, and Sam could sense that the demon's temper was flaring. "After everything your brother and Castiel have done to keep you breathing - everything _I've_ done - you're going to walk off stage before the last act?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "Crowley-"

"Don't Crowley me, _boy_!" the demon hissed, fisting his hands in the fabric of Sam's thin V-neck. "I've busted my ass keeping you alive out of the kindness of my previously non-existent heart, and asked for nothing, _nothing_ in return except that you KEEP FIGHTING!"

Crowley looked furious - Sam actually felt anger roiling over their mental link, which was surprising given that their connection seemed to be almost completely one way. The demon looked like he was a few moments away from throttling the life out of him.

"So help me, you will go through that door. I don't care if I have to drag you kicking and screaming by your ankles, I'll be damned before I let you lay down and die."

Sam found himself stunned by the demon king's angry determination. He'd been flirting with the idea that somewhere in his black excuse for a heart, Crowley might care about him, as some kind of weird after-effect of the third trial. But with the way the demon was looking at him now... it reminded him of Dean, that night in the church, when his brother had desperately begged him not to give up. Begged him to live.

And now, just as then, he found himself unable to say no.

"I can't make any guarantees on what's going to happen when I go in there," he warned Crowley quietly. "I may not be able to get out."

"You will," Crowley stated, his tone making it clear that it wasn't up for debate. He gestured for Sam to open the door. Sam turned, taking a deep breath. It was the last breath that wouldn't taste like fire and brimstone, so he might as well enjoy it.


	26. Sing Me to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean sings a lullaby, and Team Free Will fears the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics to Hey Jude belong to the Beatles. TW for torture in this one, folks.

He knew Hell.

He knew Hell better than just about anyone, he'd say. A king had to know his kingdom, after all. He knew every black, blood-drenched crevice, and Hell was vast - vast as Earth, although 'space' didn't work in Hell quite like it did on the human plane of existence. Nevertheless, it was large by anyone's definition of the word.

Crowley had never been to the Cage. When they'd decided to raise Sam, he'd left that to Cas's discretion. There were probably very few beings in Creation that Lucifer hated more than him, and he didn't want to tempt fate. The Cage was located under the Black Throne, and he'd had to move it aside so Cas could go in for Sam.

It's entrance was a gaping maw in the hard black stone of the Ninth Circle. It sucked in air like a heavy breathing mouth, and jagged edges stuck out like crooked teeth along the chasm that led down to a bottom that was unable to be seen. It was cold, colder than anything in Hell had any right to be, and it called to him, it touched the hint of a soul left in his twisted black essence and made him feel pure, human fear.

Needless to say, he'd stayed away after that instance. He didn't know how Sam was even upright after that whole ordeal, and he'd never asked Cas how he was able to pull Sam out of there without getting turned into a burn mark. The Cage was Hell's Hell. The lowest, darkest, most unholy place in all of Creation.

And he was walking right into it because of Sam Winchester.

Granted, it was a memory. Memories were different. Memories could be fuzzier, yes. But they could also be more vivid, more like a painted work of art with blurred edges but brilliant colors.

Memories could be dangerous.

He steeled himself for whatever they would encounter in Sam's memory of the Cage as the hunter sucked in a deep breath and threw open the doors, thrusting himself in like a man about to dive into fathomless, icy water. It wasn't far from what he was actually doing. Crowley, ever the faithful demon, followed behind.

_Sweet Hell, what've I gotten myself into, here?_

The temperature dropped further once the doors closed behind them, then disappeared. Crowley found it difficult to move steadily, even with the preternatural heat of his skin. Sam shivered violently in front of him. They were in a room that seemed to be mostly made of concrete. Here and there, ice stalactites hung from the ceiling. There were stains on the concrete. Dried blood.

"This isn't exactly what I expected," Crowley admitted in a low voice. Sam gulped next to him.

"He - he changed it a lot," Sam managed. "Down here, it was whatever he wanted it to be. I think Michael took Adam somewhere once they were locked in. I never saw them. It was always just Lucifer and I, and... he made it whatever he wanted. Sometimes it was like this, freezing." He rubbed his arms, trying to build up heat. "Other times, it was like you'd expect. Hot. Burning. Fire."

Crowley could only assume that talking was helping Sam to stay in the moment, to keep him rooted in their reality and not dragged down into the terror and misery of where he was. He felt anxiety and fear pulsing through their connection, but Sam hadn't completely lost it yet, so that was something to be thankful for.

"Where's Lucifer?" Crowley asked.

As if on cue, laughter echoed, seeming to come from a corridor that was to their immediate left. Then, a heart-wrenching scream. Sam's, he was fairly sure, even though it barely sounded human.

"He's further in," Sam whispered. "We have to keep going, don't we?"

Crowley looked at him, and there was that feeling again, that stabbing in his chest, the knot in his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was concern, compassion, empathy... he was still utter shit at discerning one emotion from the other. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn't anything good.

Ah. The joys of being partially human.

"Be brave, Sam," Crowley told him, and the thick sincerity in his own voice almost frightened him.

Together, the two of them continued on down the hallway, their footsteps seeming far too loud on the concrete. Ice was forming on Sam's cheeks, which were still damp from the tears he'd shed back in the Cold Spring Inn. It seemed that the memories that led them deepest into Sam's mind - and into the safest places, by default - were the ones that haunted him the most.

Betraying his own brother, surrendering to his addiction, and then subsequently raising Lucifer. He could understand why it was something that the hunter didn't particularly want to look back on.

Crowley put his hand on Sam's arm, and he sent a blast of heat through him. He was grateful that his powers could still impact the reality inside of Sam's near-death mind. The ice turned to moisture and dripped down Sam's face. He shook his head like a wet dog that'd just come in from the rain.

"Thanks."

He grunted something inaudible in response. They exited into a large antechamber with a ceiling so high that it literally stretched up into dark nothingness. The floor was mostly ice. In the center of it all there was a gruesome looking steel structure.

A naked man was strapped to the steel instrument by chains that seemed to dig several inches into his battered skin. He was stretched out like an x, his head hanging down so that his chin touched his chest. His hair was lank, matted down with blood. His entire body trembled violently. He was covered in hideous injuries, everything from festering burns to gaping, open and bloody wounds.

It took him almost a minute to realize that the chained man was Sam.

In front of Sam paced Lucifer, in the vessel he'd worn for almost a year before possessing Sam. His meat suit wasn't rotting away, like it had been up top. He had a wicked looking instrument in his hand - Crowley recognized it as a necrotome. One of Crowley's own favored tools, actually.

He remembered how he used to revel in it all. The way screams echoed in his 'laboratory', the feel of blood soaking the skin of his hands and the cuffs of his suit, the scent of blood and burnt skin and hair. The begging and pleading and then the repeated, merciless denial, the slash of knives through skin, the crack of hammers on bones, the bubbling of a blow torch put to smooth flesh...

He felt bile rising in his throat. He balled his hand into a fist and put it against his mouth, fighting to keep it down. He'd loved it, once. The power, the pain, all of it. He was practically passionate about it, about being able to take a being and carve them into whatever he wanted, being able to split them open and break them down to their base elements, flesh and muscle and bone, and see what they were at their core.

Now? The very thought made his skin crawl, his eyes water, made him feel unclean and... and _broken_. Because how the hell could he do things like that to anyone - demon, human, monster - how, how, _how?_

Beside him, Sam seemed to be going through a rigmarole of his own intensely unpleasant emotions. His body was rigid, as if he'd frozen in place (not entirely unbelievable given the current temperature) and his eyes were wide, fixed on the shell of himself that was bound to the steel structure. The pulse of fear over their link picked up, transforming into a rabid, frantic beating.

 _"I'm not here. I'm not here. I'm not actually here. I got out - Death pulled me out, and Cas pulled Lucifer out of me. This isn't real. It's in my head. It's in my head. It's in my head!"_ Sam mentally screamed at himself, and Crowley didn't know whether he meant for Crowley to hear his chant or not.

He needed to get Sam out of here, but there were no other doors in the room that he could see. Fog was beginning to touch the edges of the memory, and Crowley felt fear spike in his own chest. He didn't know where they could go from here. This couldn't be a dead-end, could it?

"You know," Lucifer said with a shake of his head. "I wish I didn't have to do this."

"P-please..." Sam whimpered, his head unable to lift from his chest. "Please stop, please..."

"Not that I don't love the sound of the magic word, but..." Lucifer suddenly fisted a hand in Sam's hair and jerked his head up, revealing his beaten and bloody face. "This is what I like to call _fair is fair_ , Sammy." He plunged the necrotome into the meat of Sam's stomach, then twisted. Sam screamed, and Crowley wanted to cover his ears, but found that he couldn't move.

"We could've had it all, you and I. We could've taken out my brother and we could've made Hell, Earth, and Heaven all our kingdom. You and me against the world, Sam," Lucifer said before driving the necrotome upwards. Crowley knew that it had sunk into Sam's left lung. Sam thrashed against his bindings, rending more of the skin around his wrists. He coughed, and blood spattered the floor in front of him.

"S- _stop_!" Sam pleaded. "Please... please..."

Lucifer tsked, running a deceptively gentle finger along his chin. "I do like you so much better now that you're begging, Sam," Lucifer admitted. "I just wish that you would've been like this when I was inside of you." Lucifer leaned in close, smirking up at Sam as he jerked the necrotome out of him. Sam whimpered. "But you chose your brother over me. The brother who would turn his back on you in a heartbeat, just like mine did."

Sam coughed again, but then lifted his head. His gray eyes were hazy, barely coherent, but in that moment, something sparked to life in them. "Dean... isn't like... M-Michael..." Sam said, his words barely audible. It sounded like his jaw was broken. "H-he's... family... _real_ family..."

Lucifer's expression twisted, and he discarded the necrotome, putting his hand around Sam's throat. The youngest Winchester cried out in agony as he squeezed. "Your family let you throw yourself into the Pit for the rest of the eternity with Satan himself. Tell me more about how much your big brother loves you," he growled.

Crowley's insides were writhing, and his eyes felt hot in spite of the subzero temperatures in the room. He couldn't watch this, not any longer.

More fog crept in. They were in a halo of clear space among the gray mire. Crowley looked at Sam, and the hunter was frozen in place. His eyes were darting around wildly, his eyes shining with tears, his body trembling from both fear and the cold. Terror was still flowing into Crowley through their bond, but he could tell that wherever Sam was at the moment, it wasn't here.

The fog was creeping in faster and faster. Sam was losing his mind, being here. It was all collapsing in on itself, and there were still no more exits out of this memory, none that were apparent to him.

This was it. The last stop.

_No. Not yet. I'm not going to let him die._

"Sam," Crowley said, turning to face the hunter. He received no response. More screams echoed from behind him, but they seemed farther away now. Sam's eyes stared at something in the distance, something that wasn't there. He waved his hand in front of Sam's face. "SAM!" Still nothing. He let out a sound that was something between a sigh and a growl, then grabbed Sam's face, splaying his fingers out along the hunter's cheeks. Crowley tilted Sam's head down, forcing his eyes to be level with his own, but they still weren't meeting his.

"Sam Winchester, look at me. At _me_. I'm here - was I in the Cage with you? No," he said, tightening his grip on Sam's face. "I'm here, and Lucifer is gone, and you are out of Hell, and I need you to _stay with me_." Slowly, Sam's eyes focused in on his, and some of the haze started to clear. However, it seemed like they were almost completely enshrouded in fog, now. "That's it, Moose. That's it. Stay with me, stay alive. I need you to. You saved me, alright? Back in that church, you saved me, and I bloody hate you for it - but now it's my turn to save you. Stay. With. Me."

Sam gulped. "Crowley?" he whispered.

"That's right, Sam, it's me. Now, I need you to listen to me. Your mind's crumbling. There's nowhere left to go, nowhere left to run. Your soul is going to leave your body, and we have to stop it." He brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair out of Sam's face. "I need you to find a memory, Sam, any memory, and you need to recreate it perfectly. Make it strong. Make it clear. It has to be your anchor. It's got to be the stone that the rest of your mind is going to stand on. There's power in the human mind, unbelievable power. Use it."

Sam nodded dimly. "A memory," he breathed out. "I - I can do that." Sam closed his eyes.

The world around them began to change.

* * *

Dean, Cas, and Gabriel appeared in the bunker's foyer. There was a startled shout - Kevin had been standing by the electronic maps on the wall, a glass of scotch in his hand. It dropped to the ground and shattered.

"What the hell!" Kevin exclaimed. "A little warning next time, maybe?" He narrowed his dark eyes at Gabriel. "Who are you? Are you the angel they were looking for?"

"Guilty as charged," Gabriel said, gesturing at himself. "So, the Winchesters got themselves a pet prophet. Isn't that adorable."

"Sorry Kevin," Dean apologized hurriedly. "Where's Sam?"

Kevin shrugged. "In his room? It's not like he can leave it. I haven't heard anything from him or Crowley in days."

"And you didn't think to call!?" Dean asked, quickly brushing past him. Cas and Gabriel were hot on his heels. Kevin trailed along behind them.

"I did call! You haven't been picking up your phone since Wednesday," Kevin protested. "Did he agree to heal Sam?"

"Yes," Cas answered for Dean. "You couldn't allow us cell service in your alternate reality?" he asked his brother. Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, you guys are all complaints. Can't we just focus on the fact that I'm swooping in and saving the day?" he asked.

"No!" Dean and Cas answered in unison. Dean tried Sam's door. Locked. He preceeded to knock furiously. "Sam? Crowley?" Nothing. "Open the hell up!" he shouted.

_Sam, please, please, you can't do this to me. You can't be dead. You **can't**. I can't do this without you._

"You Winchesters. You always make things so difficult," Gabriel said.

The archangel snapped his fingers, and they were inside of Sam's room. Kevin was still outside in the hall, and he banged on the door. Cas unlocked the door, letting the prophet in. Dean looked around his brother's bedroom. Sam was on his bed, his eyes closed, his bed soaked with sweat and in places, blood. The room wreaked of the stuff. Dean felt his heart soar when he realized that Sam's chest was still moving, albeit slowly.

On the ground next to Sam's bed, Crowley was facedown on the floor, completey still.

"Huh. Not exactly what I expected," Gabriel admitted.

"What? What is it?" Dean asked, moving towards his brother. "And what's up with Crowley?"

"Well..." Gabriel followed behind Dean. He nudged Crowley's still form with the toe of his shoe. "Hate to break it to you, but that's not Crowley."

"What do you mean?" Cas asked.

Gabriel pointed at the younger Winchester. "Someone's booked a double room in the Sam Motel. Crowley's possessing him."

"What!?" Dean burst out. Now that he was right next to Sam, he could see the shape of a relatively small hand burned through his shirt, and then a matching, gruesome burn mark on his skin. Crowley had torched Sam's anti-possession tattoo. "Damn it!" he cursed, his fists clenching at his side. "DAMN IT! I knew we couldn't trust the little bastard, I fucking _knew it_!"

Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from Sam. "Hold your horses, hotshot. You might need to postpone the temper tantrum." He glanced at Dean. "Back in a sec."

Gabriel disappeared.

* * *

Lights and colors flashed by, the whirring swirl of Sam's mind and memories. Then things began to take shape. Solid forms, walls, a floor. The smell of blood disappeared, replaced by the scent of mothballs and cheap laundry detergent. The temperature rose back to an average heat. He heard crickets somewhere in the distance, and closer, the consistent rattle of an old air conditioner.

Sam blinked. He knew where they were before he opened his eyes. He and Crowley were in a motel room. There were two double beds in front of him and Crowley, a lump under each comforter, one smaller than the other.

"Solid, Sam," Crowley said from next to him. "You have to keep it solid."

"I will," he replied solemnly. If he had to hold onto something, he was holding onto this. And if he was going to die soon - like he very much expected himself to - then he wanted this to be the last thing he saw.

"Dean?" a small voice asked from under the covers of the right bed. "Dean, you awake?"

The other lump groaned, then said, "Yeah, Sammy, I'm awake."

A pause. "I can't sleep."

"...Me neither."

In the right bed, a small figure sat up in the darkness, the covers clinging around his narrow shoulders. It was Sam, at only seven years old. His shaggy brown hair stuck up in odd places. He balled one of his hands into a small fist, rubbing it against his eye.

"I'm kinda scared."

"There ain't anything to be scared of," Dean mumbled, sitting up in his own bed and propping his back against the headboard. "We switch schools all the time."

"Yeah, I know." The little boy bunched his hands worriedly in the covers. "But I don't really like this place. The whole town seems... sad."

"Dad'll probably only be a few weeks here, Sammy. Then we'll go some place new, just like always," Dean reassured him.

"Yeah." Sam pouted a little. "I don't think the other kids are gonna like me, Dean."

"They'll like you, stupid. Everybody likes you."

"Nuh-uh. They didn't like me in Allentown."

"Well, that's 'cause _they_ were stupid," Dean retorted. "They'll like you, Sammy."

"You promise?"

"Yeah, yeah, I promise," Dean muttered, leaning over the side of his bed and extending his pinkie toward Sam, who mirrored his movement. They hooked their pinkies together. "Now go the hell to sleep."

"Dean, Dad said not to cuss!"

"Alright, geez, sorry," he said, rolling his eyes. He withdrew back to his bed, his head thumping down on his pillow. "Sleep."

"I don't think I can. I want to, but I can't."

Dean frowned. "You want me to read to you?"

Sam gave him a look that he recognized as a predecessor to the expression he often donned now that Dean called his 'bitch face'. "I can read on my own, you know."

"I'm just asking," he mumbled. "What do you want me to do?"

"I dunno."

"That's really freakin' helpful."

"I just wanna sleep," Sam said, collapsing backwards dramatically.

Dean seemed to think for a moment. "I could sing to you, or something. Like a lullaby."

Sam giggled at that. "You can't sing."

"Hey, shut your trap! I can sing!"

Sam turned on his side to look at Dean. "Will it make me sleep?"

Dean pursed his lips, his young eyes darkening. "I... when we were real little, Mom used to sing to me when I couldn't sleep. It always helped."

Sam went quiet after that for a few moments. "Okay." He curled tighter under his covers, closing his eyes.

Dean bit the inside of his lip, looked at his little brother, took a deep breath, then started to sing. His voice was the cracked soprano of a child, but to Sam, it was comforting - it was home, in a sound. It was as good a swan song as any.

_"Hey Jude, don't make it bad... take a sad song, and make it better..."_

"This is what you chose to hold onto?" Crowley asked softly. "This isn't an anchor, for you. You think you're going to die. You want this to be the last thing that you see."

Sam turned his head so he could meet the demon's eyes. It must've been a trick of the light, but they almost looked like they were shining. "Either my mind's gonna give out, or Cecil's going to come for me. Dean and Cas aren't going to make it back in time."

_"Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better..."_

"I did everything I could," Crowley said, and Sam didn't know if he was talking to him, or talking to himself. "I... I tried, Moose. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he told him. "You... I don't know why, but for whatever reason, you... you've busted your ass trying to keep me alive. I would already be dead if it weren't for you."

"You're going to die anyway."

"Still."

_"Hey Jude, don't be afraid, you were made to go out and get her..."_

"You don't deserve to die," Crowley muttered. "You _don't_."

"We don't get what we deserve, Crowley," he responded. "We get what we get. I don't want to die resenting that."

_"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders..."_

"Thank you," Crowley told him quietly. Sam raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"For what?"

"For..." He pinned his tongue between his teeth, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "The trial. The injections."

_"For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool, by making this world a little colder..."_

"I thought you hated me for it."

"I do, absolutely. But... things are different, now. I'm different." He swallowed with some effort. "I could be better, maybe."

Sam nodded. "I think you could."

_"Hey Jude, don't let me down, you have found her, now go and get her..."_

"Good luck, Sam. Wherever you're going."

"Thanks, Crowley."

_"Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better..."_

"Oh, _God_ , why didn't I bring my tissues? Such a tear jerker." Sam and Crowley both jumped, startled, before turning around simultaneously. Leaning against the battered sofa was Gabriel, watching them with an amused expression. "Drifting off into the great unknown to the soundtrack of a pre-pubescent Dean Winchester. Honestly, I'm starting to question your life choices, Sammy."

"Gabriel!?" Sam burst out. He'd just given up hope, just accepted that he'd reached the end of the road... and now suddenly the archangel was here.

"The one and only." Gabriel smirked at him. "What do you say we end this little melodrama, huh?"


	27. Miracle Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel saves the day, and a centuries-old rad bromance is revealed.

"Where did he go?" Dean asked, looking around the empty room. "Is he- what, is he _in_ Sam?"

"I don't know," Cas responded. "I can only assume so. He wouldn't just disappear like this."

Dean rounded on Kevin. "Did it occur to you to maybe check on Sam at all, instead of leaving him alone for days?" he growled. He couldn't help it, he was pissed, worried, and about eight hundred other feelings that were anything but good. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that Sam was with Crowley, and I don't want to go anywhere near Crowley!" Kevin snapped in response. "Suddenly he's on our side, but what you bastards keep forgetting is that he killed my _mother_! My _girlfriend_! Tortured me! And oh yeah, I'm the only one in the entire world who can decode the angel tablet, so sorry, I've been kind of busy with that."

"You listen to me, you little-"

"Dean." Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed lightly. It startled him, and he turned his head to meet Cas's troubled eyes. "This isn't going to accomplish anything."

He knew Cas was right, but that didn't change the fact that he was fucking angry. Still, it wasn't fair to take it out on Kevin. His gaze wandered towards Crowley's abandoned vessel on the ground. Taking it out on Crowley sounded like a far better idea.

"I know," he muttered. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have left Sam with him."

"Sam is still alive," Cas pointed out, releasing his shoulder. "And he's still here. I don't know why Crowley hasn't done something with him." The ex-angel looked both perplexed and concerned. "I don't know why he would even possess Sam in the first place."

"For leverage to use against us? What else would he want Sam for?" He approached Crowley's body, glaring down at it. "Maybe just to screw with us. I knew he'd been acting too much like a not-douche for it to be real. He's been playing us this whole time."

"I told you this would happen," Kevin said lowly. "It doesn't matter how much human blood you pumped him up with. He's still a demon. He's still evil."

"Thanks, I realize that," Dean snapped back at the prophet. He turned his eyes to his brother, and he swallowed with difficulty. "What the hell is Gabriel doing?"

Suddenly, Sam's body convulsed and arched up dramatically. His mouth opened. Thick crimson smoke emerged from between his lips and coiled in the air like a storm cloud. Dean shoved his hand into the pocket of Sam's sweat pants, wrestling for Ruby's knife, which he'd left with his brother in case Crowley tried something. He fumbled, found the hilt, and pulled it out just as the red smoke poured back into the abandoned meat suit lying on the ground.

Crowley gasped as he refilled his body, then rolled over so he was on his back. He blinked several times, flexing his hands, but froze when he saw Dean.

"Squirrel," he greeted shakily. "Ah. This isn't quite what it looks like-"

"See you in Hell, Crowley." He lunged towards Crowley, Ruby's knife raised, but he was thrown back against the opposite wall. His head smacked into the dry wall, and stars danced in his eyes as he slid down, his ass hitting the floor. At first he thought it was Crowley that blew him back, but he now saw Gabriel in his blurred sights. Cas stood nearby, backing up so that he was standing in a protective stance in front of Kevin, angel blade gripped in his hand.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at Dean. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to ask questions first, then stab? Kids these days."

The archangel turned to Crowley, and to Dean's shock, he offered the demon his hand. Crowley gratefully took it and pulled himself up. Sam was still laying motionless on the bed, but he noticed that warm, white light seemed to be radiating around him like an outline.

"Crowles," Gabriel said, grinning. Dean's eyes widened when the angel pulled Crowley into a hug, and Dean found himself confused even further when Crowley returned the embrace with one arm. _What the hell!?_  

"It's been too long, my man," Gabriel greeted, thumping Crowley on the back. "You don't write, you don't call - what's a guy to think?"

"Well, to be fair," Crowley drawled, still seeming somewhat off-kilter. "I _did_ think you were dead."

"Please. You really think Satan can keep me down?" He released Crowley.

"You two know each other?" Cas asked incredulously, echoing Dean's thoughts.

"Duh," Gabriel said. "We're big players, we mingle. I've known Crowles since, what? Late eighteenth century?"

"Roughly."

"I still owe you for Reykjavik, you know."

"Oh, believe me, I haven't forgotten. And I think you owe me another one - really, you were an angel this whole time and didn't tell me? I should've known you were more than some punkass pagan god."

"Sorry, witness protection, you know how it goes."

"Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?" Dean burst out, forcing himself up and back on his feet. His head throbbed mercilessly. "First off, how about you break off your little reunion so I can gank his ass. Secondly, what did you to Sam? Is he - is he healing? Did you fix him?"

"My Grace is doing the drain-o routine on the big galoot, flushing out all of the crap that the trials had pumping through him. In a couple of minutes, he'll be spick and span," Gabriel told him. "And how about you wait for your brother to wake up before you go on a killing spree, huh?"

"He possessed Sam!"

"I possessed Sam because I had no other option," Crowley said. "He would've died-" he broke off, glancing at Gabriel. "What day is it?"

"Saturday."

Crowley shook his head, seeming a little thrown off by the day. "Sam would've been dead two days ago if I hadn't taken him. It was the only way to keep him alive. His body was giving out on him, and you two hadn't found our missing angel yet. So, please, kill me if it'll make you feel better - but I'm the only reason little Sammy's still breathing."

"You seriously expect us to believe that?" Kevin challenged from behind Cas.

"I don't expect you to believe anything, but it doesn't change the fact that it's the truth," Crowley answered in a monotone. He turned to look at Sam, and Dean thought that he saw a flash of concern cross Crowley's features, but then he quickly convinced himself that he'd imagined it. "So, when he wakes up, he'll be cured? Just like that?"

"Stop pretending like you care," Dean demanded. Dean made his way towards Crowley, but Gabriel took up a defensive position in front of him and Dean was forced to come to a halt.

"Sam'll be fine once he wakes up," Gabriel answered, then to Dean he said, "You didn't tell me I was doing a two for one deal, by the way."

Dean had no idea what he meant by that. "What do you mean, two for one deal?"

Gabriel's lips quirked up, and he chuckled. "Oh-ho, he doesn't know about your little psychic connection!" He turned to Crowley, who seemed to be trying to silently communicate _shut up shut up shut up_ to Gabriel. "How scandalous."

Dean glared at Crowley. "What is he talking about?" he asked slowly, deliberately. _Damn it, I can't take anymore surprises today._ Just then, Sam took in a great, deep breath, then released it. His eyes opened, and they seemed brighter than they had in a long time - not bright with fever, bright with _life_.

"Sam," Dean breathed out, and he brushed past Gabriel and made his way to his brother's side. He heard footsteps as Cas and Kevin came closer to see Sam. "Sammy, are you okay now?"

Sam swallowed, and seemed to think for a moment as he regained is bearings, eyes darting around the room. "I... I think I am. I feel fine." He let out a weak little laugh. "I - I feel fine!"

Dean couldn't help but grin, and he felt sweet relief pour into him. It felt like there had been a boulder sitting on his chest for months, and it was finally lifted. Sam was going to live. He was okay, and the trials were long gone. The damage that Sam had brought onto himself was finally fixed.

_I'm never gonna come that close to losing him again. Not if I can help it._

Slowly, Sam sat up. He let out another laugh. "I... God, I can't even remember the last time I could move without hurting," he admitted.

Dean promptly threw his arms around his brother, gripping him as tightly as he dared. He didn't have to worry about breaking him, anymore. Sam wrapped his massive arms around Dean's back and gave back just as good as he got. Sam was strong again.

"You did it, Dean," Sam said softly. "You and Cas. You found him in time."

Dean pulled back, ducking his head so the wetness building in his eyes wouldn't be visible. _Stop being such a friggin' girl!_

"It is so good to see you well again, Sam," Cas told him, and Dean could read the relief in the ex-angel's features. He never really understood exactly how Cas and Sam's friendship worked - so maybe there was no 'profound bond' as Cas put it, but they cared about each other a hell of a lot, that went without saying.

"It's good to _be_ well again," Sam replied. "Thank you. Both of you, for getting Gabriel." He glanced at Gabriel. "And... thanks for healing me. I was half-expecting you to show up just to taunt me before I bit it."

"Good to hear you've got such a high opinion of me, Sammy-boy," the archangel said, smirking at Sam.

Sam smiled faintly, then frowned, looking down at his chest. He winced when he saw the hand-shaped burn mark on his chest. "Wow, Crowley, ever heard of a knife? You didn't have to brand me."

"I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time," Crowley confessed. "And I've been known to have a flair for the dramatic."

Dean was perplexed by Sam's demeanor. He didn't seem remotely angry that he'd been possessed. "Sam, what did the bastard do to you? Why'd he start riding around in your skin?"

Sam noticed Ruby's knife in Dean's hand. "Hey, Dean, put that away. He was trying to help me."

"Help you? He possessed you!" Kevin burst out.

"I was done for. I'd stopped breathing... my reaper was coming for me," Sam explained. "He only possessed me to buy me some more time. He kept me breathing and he kept my reaper away."

"Who is your reaper, anyway?" Gabriel asked curiously.

"It was Cecil," Crowley answered for him. "Persistent bloke."

"You're telling me he possessed you... to _help_ you," Dean repeated for clarification, still gripping Ruby's knife. Sam nodded.

"He's the only reason I made it as long as I did."

Gabriel gave him an I-told-you-do look. "This is why I said ask first, stab second."

Crowley lifted his chin and gave Dean a scrutinizing look. "What say you put away the demon poker, hmm? I just saved your little brother's skin - and not to mention that while you two were off on your archangel odyssey, I was the one sitting by Moose's sickbed. I think perhaps I've earned myself some mercy, don't you?"

He didn't want to believe it. Crowley sticking his neck out for Sam like this? Crowley... _caring_ about Sam? Crowley was a demon! The King of the Hell, no less! He'd seen him do awful things - this was the same guy that brutally tortured an angel until bushes started burning, the same guy who kidnapped Kevin and tortured him. The same guy who tried to kill everyone they'd ever saved.

_This is the same guy that was sobbing when you found him in that church. Sobbing because he felt guilty. Sobbing because he was a monster._

Dean reluctantly set the knife down on Sam's bed side table.

"Are you insane-"

"Kevin," Dean cut across him. "I don't trust him, but I trust Sam. Sam says he was trying to save him, I believe him."

The prophet fell silent, but he was still glaring at Crowley with all he had. The demon avoided his eyes. Gabriel clapped his hands together.

"Alright, now that we're one big happy family... peace out, bitches."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam said, reaching out and grabbing Gabriel's wrist. "Listen, thank you for the whole trial detox, seriously, but there's a lot of other crap we could really use your help with."

"Yeah, see, here's the rub with that... last time I threw in with you mooks, I got dead. Which is something that, shockingly, I'd like to avoid. Dad did me a solid and resurrected me. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that I'm not in Cas's boat, so every time I die bloody, he won't just paste my pieces back together. So, waste not, want not, yada yada - point is, I'm outie."

"Xaphan and Abaddon are gonna wreck the world! It's gonna be Hell on Earth, you don't think that's gonna rain on your parade a little?" Dean asked. They didn't have any solid way to take down Abaddon at the moment - short of the archangel standing right in front of them - and the only lead they had on locking Xaphan up was Joshua, and they didn't have half a clue where he was.

Right now, Gabriel was their best hope.

"I have the utmost confidence that you and the rest of the lost boys can handle it just fine," Gabriel said. "Hey, you got rid of Lucy - how bad can another fallen angel and Abaddouche be?"

"Loki-" Crowley began, but broke off, remembering himself. "Gabriel," he amended. "Abaddon stole my throne. My kingdom. And she's running Hell like a third grader on a sugar rush, I guarantee it." He narrowed his eyes at the archangel. "Consider this me calling in my favor. When we find the whore, you help us take her down."

"What about Xaphan-" Cas began, but Crowley held up a finger.

"Abaddon is a far bigger problem, Kitten," he cut across him. "Trust me, I know." He looked back at Gabriel. "Come on. You know you want to. If you're resorting back to karma kills, you must be bored out of your mind. At least these idiots are entertaining."

Gabriel shrugged. "Well. Screwing around with Dave and Elton here was a blast from the past. Nice wave of nostalgia..." The angel puffed out his cheeks, thinking. "Alright, tell you what - when you jokers find Abaddon, give me a call, and if I'm feeling generous, I'll come and rough her up for you. But until then, keep in mind, I'm not your holy servant boy - Cas already has that gig."

"There's nothing holy about me anymore," Cas said quietly.

"Sure there is, bucko - you don't need wings or Grace to be an angel... it's more of a lifestyle thing. _Anyway_ , I've got places to be, people to meet... so if you'll excuse me..."

Dean blinked, and Gabriel was gone.

Sam glanced sideways at Crowley. "You never told me that you knew him," he said.

"Didn't see the need to."

"You and an angel, though..."

Crowley merely arched an eyebrow at him. "It's not as if I haven't palled around with angels before." He flicked his eyes to Cas for a moment, who shuffled uncomfortably. "Not to mention, when we were - well, I suppose the best way to put it would be to call us drinking buddies - I thought he was a Norse god. He's got heavy warding to hide what he truly is. I didn't have a chance of seeing through it."

"Okay, so Sam's healed?" Kevin asked abruptly.

Sam nodded. "Feels like it."

"Good. I'm glad you're okay. Really," he said, and then he promptly turned on his heel and left the room. Dean sighed. They were going to have to do something about Kevin, especially if Crowley stuck around. There had to be someway to get the kid to understand that right now, they were short on allies and unfortunately, Crowley was the best card they had, no matter how loathe he was to admit it.

"Glad to see he's as fond of me as ever," Crowley drawled.

"He's not exactly your biggest fan," Sam agreed. "Understandably."

"You hungry, Sammy?" Dean asked, trying to clear the uneasy air in the room.

"Yeah, actually... I'm starving." That wasn't surprising. He hadn't eaten a full, solid meal in weeks, probably.

Dean nodded. "I'll make us all up some grub, give you a double helping. You need your strength back."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam threw his legs over the side of the bed, standing up. Almost simultaneously, Crowley, Dean, and Cas all took a step closer to Sam, worried that he might fall. However, his younger brother was perfectly steady on his feet.

"You good?"

"I'm good," he assured him. "Really good."

"Now that you're back on your feet, what say we go deal with that third degree burn I gave you? It'd be a pity to get you healed up and then have you die from an infection. Deliciously ironic, but still a pity."

"Alright."

Dean watched as his brother went into Sam's bathroom with the demon, and Crowley began rifling through the medical cabinet. Sam sat down on the toilet, touching the hand-print burn with a flinch. Crowley noticed and slapped his hand away, muttering, "Moron."

"I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that," Cas said from beside him.

"What? Crowley being less of a douche?"

"Yes," Cas said. "Things... they're very different now, aren't they?"

Dean looked at his friend. "I'd say so, yeah."

"I can't decide whether it is a good kind of a different, or a bad kind," Cas told him.

"Ditto," he said. "But, you know what? My brother's alive. He's breathing and not coughing up blood. He's healthy. So yeah, maybe the world's a domino away from the end, and maybe we've got the fucking King of Hell bunking with us, and the angels are running around without wings, but... Sam's okay, which means right now, I'm grateful. Hell, I'm _happy_. So I'm gonna go make burgers, and I'm gonna make him eat about five, because that's what I can do today. Then tomorrow, we figure out how to save the world."

Cas gave him a soft smile. Feeling lighter than he had in a long time, Dean returned it. 


	28. Let the Flames Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean isn't the only one with a hand print scar, and Sam and Crowley's link strengthens.

Crowley heard footsteps as Castiel and Dean exited Sam's bedroom. He rifled through the medicine cabinet, pleased when he found burn ointment and a roll of bandages. He turned, looking at Sam, who was sitting on the lid of the toilet. The Moose was practically glowing; he didn't know whether it was an after-effect of Gabriel's Grace, or perhaps he'd just seen Sam being worn and ill for so long that he'd forgotten what he looked like healthy.

Crowley bent down in front of Sam, setting the supplies on the ground. "Put your arms up. I have to take your shirt off," Crowley told him. Sam seemed reluctant, but after a moment, he raised his arms over his head. Crowley hooked his thumbs under the edge of Sam's soft v-neck and slowly guided it upwards, his fingers brushing Sam's ribs. The Winchester shifted and made a sound of discomfort.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"My ribs. Just don't touch them, they're kind of... ticklish," he admitted, a little sheepishly. Crowley, unable to help himself, grinned. He just couldn't imagine Sam Winchester of all people being _ticklish_. Idly, he wondered what sounds he would make, if tickled. If he hadn't had the pressing matter of the burn to deal with, he might well have investigated.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Demons didn't _do_ tickling. Stupid thought, really.

Crowley got Sam's shirt up to his chest, taking care not to brush the hunter's sensitive ribs. When he tried to move it up further, Sam gasped. "Ah - ah!"

"Damn," Crowley said, pinning his tongue between his teeth. "It's melted into your skin. I'm going to have to cut it away."

Sam grimaced. "Why can't you just heal it? You're biokinetic, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I'm cut off from Hell, remember? I'm weaker than usual. I can heal it to a certain degree, but not completely. It's likely to leave a scar."

"So, I'm going to have the outline of your hand burned into my chest for the rest of my life?"

"Call it a love token," Crowley said with a smirk. He went back to the medical cabinet and retrieved a pair of scissors, then began snipping away the fabric that was embedded in Sam's skin.

Sam shook his head slightly. "Typical."

"What makes you say that, Moose?"

"Dean... he's got Cas's handprint burned into his shoulder from when Cas pulled him out of Hell. Dean gets an angel hand, I get a demon hand."

"Always on the darker side of things, aren't you? If it's worth anything, it makes you infinitely more interesting," he commented as small pieces of Sam's shirt fell away, landing on the hunter's jeans. "I do hope you weren't too attached to this shirt."

"The blood stains already ruined it. I'm gonna need to go clothes shopping soon, I've destroyed most of my clothes since I've been sick," he replied.

"Dear God, _please_ let me go with you. Someone needs to dress you properly."

"What's wrong with the way I dress?" he asked. Crowley removed the remainder of fabric from around the wound.

"Arms up. And where do I even start?" He tugged Sam's shirt up again, and over his head, revealing the hunter's sculpted torso. Crowley allowed his eyes to linger for a few moments. He'd earned that much, hadn't he? He saved his life, after all. "First off, layers, all the bloody time. Even when it's hot out, you're in at least three. It's ridiculous. Secondly - the _denim_. It's not the seventies, darling. And that dreadful suede jacket you're always wearing, it's so-"

"Are you seriously giving me fashion advice right now?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Crowley lifted his palm, placing it over the burn. Sam hissed through his teeth, arching in pain. Crowley channeled as much energy as he could into healing the burn. The blackened skin fell away, replaced by a new, irritated red. When he removed his hand, it seemed as though weeks had passed in terms of the wound's severity. It would still be painful and still scar, but it wouldn't be nearly as excruciating as it would've been otherwise.

"There," he said. "And yes, I'm giving you fashion advice. No time like the present. I mean, you're gorgeous, in a lumberjack-y kind of way. Not to mention - tailor, remember? I've a bit of flair for this sort of thing." Crowley scooped the ointment off of the floor and popped the cap, dabbing his fingers in it. He began spreading it on the handprint burn.

Sam blinked. "You think I'm gorgeous?"

Crowley snorted in response. "I think that's been clear for awhile, hasn't it?" _It's not as if I've been terribly subtle about it._ Sam tilted his head and gave him an odd look, but said nothing. Crowley removed his fingers from Sam's skin, ripping off a bit of toilet paper to wipe off his fingertips. He then put the bandage on the burn, patting it down. Sam winced, but didn't seem to be in too much pain. "Although I loathe to ruin the moment, we _do_ have a problem."

"Of course we do. What's it been, five minutes?"

"Dean knows about us."

"Knows... _what,_ exactly?"

"What do you think?"

"Not our head thing?"

"Gabriel didn't get the memo that we were keeping it under wraps. Spilled to your brother, and now I know he's going to have questions for the both of us," Crowley explained. "Squirrel's bound to have a conniption about it."

Sam sighed. "Great."

"We'll deal with whatever comes," Crowley said. He tossed Sam's shirt in the laundry hamper and then disappeared into his room, grabbing the first t-shirt he could find from Sam's dresser. He brought it back to the youngest Winchester and offered it to him. He accepted it, pulling it over his head.

_Squirrel's likely to think I'm trying to corrupt his precious little brother - lucky me, another reason for him to try and kill me._

Sam froze once he had his shirt back on. He looked at Crowley with wide eyes. "There it is again!"

"What?"

"You - what did you just think?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Sam. "I was thinking about how this gives your brother another fine excuse to shove that knife where I'd rather it not be."

"If that's the case, then I'm hearing your thoughts," Sam said. Crowley snorted derisively.

"Not possible. It's one way, remember? I sense your thoughts, your feelings, your pain. Not the other way around," Crowley said. Why would the nature of their mental link suddenly change? Worry creeping into the pit of his stomach, he decided that he better test their connection. _"Can you hear what I'm thinking right now, Moose?"_

 _"Yes!"_ Sam responded in his mind. "This must be some side effect of Gabriel flushing the trials out of me."

"Theoretically, I suppose the trials could've been acting as a kind of wall that blocked me out of your mind," Crowley proposed. "It still doesn't seem terribly likely, does it?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe you being in my head, possessing me... maybe it made it stronger, somehow?"

Crowley tongued the inside of his cheek. He truthfully didn't understand whatever was going on between he and Sam - and that bothered him intensely. He knew his way around magic; no matter how dark, how arcane, how bloody, he was nothing if not well-versed. Partly from his mother's instructions when he was a boy, but mostly from his own experimenting and research over the past few centuries.

He'd never seen anything like this. Something without precedent, when it came to magic, was generally never a good thing. He didn't like the idea of stumbling blind into uncharted territory, and he found himself even more disconcerted by the idea that Sam could catch glimpses of what was going on inside of his mind. His mind, which had always been a place of solace for him. His one, true, unconquerable sanctuary. A place all his own that could never be taken from him, even when he was on the rack in Hell.

And now Sam Winchester had an all access pass. Unacceptable. He'd be lying if he said he didn't have an inexplicable fondness for the hunter, but opening up his mind? Absolutely not.

He had remarkable control over his mental faculties, for a demon. He reassured himself with the fact that he would most likely be able to keep his thoughts and feelings out of Sam's head, if he was so inclined.

Sam was watching him with a thin frown. "I can't tell what you're thinking right now, but you're anxious. And you're making me anxious by being anxious."

Damn it. His emotions were already slipping through. He took a deep breath, doing what he could to collect himself. He drew up to his full height. He was eye-level with Sam, who was still seated. Stupid tall Moose with his stupid mind-reading and stupid abs.

"Wouldn't pry too much, darling. You might not like what you find. It's not exactly flowers and rainbows in here." He rapped a knuckle on the side of his head. "Now, why don't we go subject ourselves to your brother's company and let him smother you? Not to mention, I'm sure Gabriel tortured them a fair bit before he agreed to help. It's a story I definitely want to hear."

Sam nodded. _"Alright,"_ he said in Crowley's head.

_"Ooh, now we can gossip about Squirrel and Kitten without them hearing us. Imagine the possibilities."_

_"Shut up, Crowley."_

* * *

He'd let it go for two days. Two entire days.

He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to come down on Sam like a ton of bricks - Sam, who was healing and just getting used to being able to move without pain, eat without throwing up, breathe without coughing. But between avoiding talking to Cas, avoiding Crowley, and avoiding Sam, the only living things left in the bunker he wasn't trying to skirt around was Kevin (who was otherwise occupied, needless to say) and Crowley's fucking cat, who had been enraged after no one had fed or changed its cat box for days, and took out its anger by using Dean's bed as a bathroom.

So, it was time to talk to Sam about his creepy little head thing with Crowley - and why he had tried to hide it.

Sam was in the library, hovering over some book. His brother seemed hell bent on reading his way through the entire Letters library, in spite of the fact that it was physically impossible, even for a speed reader like Sam. Dean peered around. Crowley was nowhere in sight. The demon had been mostly absent the past two days, but when he was at the bunker, he was with Sam. Like some kind of weird, demonic bodyguard.

Jesus, what was it with Sam and demons?

"King of the Douchebags around?" Dean asked, leaning against the threshold of the door. Sam looked up from his book, lips thinning.

"He's meeting one of his cronies, trying to get some intelligence on Abaddon," Sam explained. "Why?"

"Just wanted to talk to you alone." _Or as alone as I can get you._

"So, we're finally gonna stop dancing around it?" Sam gave Dean a serious look. "Crowley told me, Dean. I know that you know. And I'm grateful you didn't jump down my throat about it the second you found out." He leaned back in his chair. "I admire your restraint." He gestured at himself. "Let me have it."

It almost irritated him how cool Sam was being about this. He would've reacted better to his brother immediately going on the defensive, like usual. He supposed Sam was just so happy to be healthy that there wasn't much that could bring him down.

"What I'm stuck on is why the hell you didn't tell me that you're sharing a brain with the King of Hell. I mean, come on, Sam! Don't you think that might've been something that the rest of us deserved to know?"

"The only reason I didn't tell you was because we kind of had a lot of other crap to deal with at the time," Sam explained. "The angels were falling, Abaddon took over Hell, I was dying, you and Cas were trying to find Gabriel - I didn't want to give you one more thing to worry about."

"So you admit that it needs to be worried about?" Dean asked, trying to brush over the fact that Sam tried to hide this from him in an attempt to make the load on his shoulders lighter. That was his job, damn it. _He_ was the big brother. "Because it does. Having Crowley in your head? You know what kind of leverage that gives him?"

"Okay, I need you to listen to me," Sam said calmly. "Crowley is the only reason I was able to stay alive long enough for Gabriel to fix me. The _only_ reason. When my lungs gave out, he did rescue breathing. When I was just about dead, he possessed me so my body would have to keep functioning. When my reaper came, he stalled as long as humanly possible. He saved my ass over and over and over again."

Crowley had thrown off Sam's reaper? That was news to him. "What then, you're suddenly best buddies, or something? Sam, this is _Crowley_. He's working an angle. You know he is!"

"He's not just in my head, Dean. I'm in his, too. He's different. Yeah, he's still a sadistic, snarky asshole, but - I mean, I don't even need to tell you, you _saw_ him the night the angels fell. You saw what the third trial did to him. He's got humanity now, there's no questioning it anymore."

"This has got to me some kind of game. He's playing us, just like always," Dean insisted.

"No. Not anymore." Sam sighed, his lips thinning. "Look. It comes down to this: Crowley saved my life. There's no getting around that. So, I'm grateful. For the time being, he's on our side, he wants Abaddon dead, Heaven back open, Xaphan back in his Cage. I know you hate his guts, and I know you want to slaughter him for possessing me, but... he's our ally. And we don't have many of those right now."

"You're right, he is our ally now," Dean said. "Until he stabs us in the back _again_! Do I need to remind you what happened at RRE? How bad he fucked us over?"

"Do you need me to remind you that we're in a completely different situation now?" Sam countered.

"Why are you so sure he's different? That we're not walking right back into another deal with the devil? How do you know this isn't gonna be Ruby all over again?"

"Well, one, it's not going to be Ruby all over again, because I don't plan on sleeping with him," Sam responded dryly. "Secondly, the thing that's got me convinced that he's changed more than anything isn't even the fact that he saved my life. It was before that. You know the attacks I was having?"

"Hard to forget, Sam."

"Crowley was having them too. They were taking as much out of him as they were out of me. The only reason he was still functioning was because he's got the extra demon strength. But here's the thing... all Crowley had to do stop it would've been to kill me. And he didn't. Instead, he busted his ass trying to save me."

"He was saving himself, too."

"But killing me would've saved him from it, and he didn't do it." Sam ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. "All I'm saying is that all signs point to this being real - to Crowley actually not being completely evil. I know you don't want to believe it. I've seen proof and I barely believe it... but I think it's the truth. I think he's changing. I'm not saying he's _good_... just _changing_."

Dean was silent, his mind working over what Sam had just told him. Presently, he still wasn't sure what to think. He loved his brother, but his judgment wasn't exactly something to be admired when it came to things like this. Then again, ever since they discovered Ruby's betrayal, Sam had been even more gung-ho on killing demons and not trusting them as far as he could throw them.

When they started working with Crowley to take down Lucifer, Dean had been the one to push the partnership, whereas Sam had been against it the entire time. Sam was not in the business of trusting demons. He was in the business of killing them. And yet, here he was, assuring him up and down that Crowley was changing. That Crowley - their enemy for years - suddenly had nothing but good intentions towards them.

He didn't buy it. The demon always had an agenda.

"I don't know about this, Sammy."

"You didn't see what I did in that church. You didn't see him before the angels fell," Sam answered lowly. "You can't fake how he was, back there. No one can fake that."

"Crowley's a damn good actor."

"Not that good." A pause. Dean tugged his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed. Sam's eyes beseeched his own. "Dean. I'm asking you to trust me, alright? Trust me that he's with us. Actually with us."

Trust Sam. He was good at trusting Sam. Bad at trusting anyone else, but good at trusting Sam. And he supposed, this time, he could set his doubts aside and put his faith in his brother - which he hadn't been doing enough lately, and he knew that Sam was still feeling like the dead weight, especially after letting the trials slip away.

That wasn't Sam's fault. No, that was all on him. Because he couldn't lose his brother. He was too weak to face a world without Sam in it, and now because of him, the Gates of Hell were still open and would remain open.

If he could let demons rain Hell down on Earth for Sam, he could deal with Crowley for him. Didn't mean that he had to like it, but he would do it.

"Okay," he said finally. "I trust you, Sam. You, not him."

"I know," Sam responded, a small smile on his lips.

Dean nodded. "Okay. We've got that settled, then. I'm gonna go drink and try not to think about your weird mind connection with Lucky the Leprechaun. Enjoy your book." Dean turned to leave, but Sam's voice stopped him.

"Dean..." He looked back at his brother. "Thank you."

* * *

Castiel and Dean laid there in the dark and the quiet, and Cas found himself frustrated. Ever since the two of them had found Gabriel, Dean seemed to be avoiding him like he had the plague. Cas would know - after all, he'd seen people who were trying to avoid the _actual_ plague.

Cas was not diseased, and he wasn't sure why Dean seemed to break off all of their conversations early and slip out of the room. They were still sharing the same bed. It was an unspoken agreement, it was either that or copious amounts of alcohol, and Cas didn't want to repeat his hangover experience from earlier in the week. He'd wanted to ask Dean what was troubling him the past two nights, but he'd dropped off almost immediately on both occasions.

Tonight, he wasn't going to let him go to sleep without knowing _why_ , why Dean suddenly was pulling away. He had an inkling - perhaps Gabriel had put Dean through a similar fantasy universe? He could see how that would make Dean uncomfortable. It didn't exactly put him at ease, either. He'd never looked at Dean in that light before, and now the line had been crossed, he often found his thoughts going places that they really shouldn't have been going.

He wanted to kiss Dean. The real Dean. But he couldn't, because it most certainly would not work out as well as it had in Gabriel's false reality, and it would only serve to complicate... well, everything.

He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but the words just weren't coming.

To his surprise, Dean spoke. He said, "You still awake, man?"

Cas swallowed. "Yes. Are you?" He frowned. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. Of course you're awake."

"It's okay. I just... look, I don't really know how to say this-"

"Did Gabriel do it to you, too?" Cas asked, unable to help himself. "The uh, coffee shop?"

"Coffee shop?" Dean asked, sounding confused. "Um, no. He had me in high school. Us in high school," he explained uncomfortably. "You were in a coffee shop?"

" _We_ were in a coffee shop."

"Why?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Gabriel spoke as if he was trying to prove something," Cas told him honestly. "Why did he put you in high school?"

"Same. No idea. Who knows what goes on in Gabriel's fucked up head, anyway?"

"I'm inclined to agree with you. My brother is nothing if not... creative."

"Yeah, that's one way to put it." He felt Dean shift next to him. "Cas, uh, I just want you to know... whatever Gabriel did to you, or us, or whatever, it doesn't change anything, you know? We're still us." Cas felt an awkward but affectionate punch to his shoulder. "You're still my best friend. We're - I mean, we're good, right?"

 _It feels like something's changed._ "Of course we're good. We're always good."

He wished he could see Dean's face, but that was the downside to the bunker. No windows and no lights at night meant total darkness.

"Glad to hear it. I'm sorry I've been kind of, you know, weird, the past couple days. Just, between Crowley and Sam's head thing and what happened with Gabriel, I've been off my game. I'm trying to get my shit together. We've got a lot to do."

"Yes, yes we do." Cas resisted the urge to reach out for Dean in the darkness, to touch him in someway, just to make sure he was really there, but he didn't think it was a good idea. "I'm happy that things are good between us, again. I was beginning to worry."

"You ain't got anything to worry about, Cas. No matter how bad things get..." Dean huffed out an almost-laugh. "We always end up right back here anyway, don't we?"

Cas didn't know what he meant by that, but he decided it was far too late to analyze his friend's comment. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Yeah." Dean yawned loudly, and Cas felt warm breath drift across his cheek. Dean was closer than he thought. "I'm gonna pass out any second... just wanted to clear the air before we went to sleep..."

"I'm tired as well," he told him. "Goodnight, Dean."

"Night, Cas."

It was just a few minutes before Cas started hearing the comforting sound of Dean's snores. He closed his eyes, and he wanted to sleep, but he found himself unable to.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know where to put this in but I feel like someone will ask about it, so I'll just say it here: Gabriel mojo'd Baby and all of Dean and Cas's things back to the bunker after he left, so all of their stuff isn't still sitting in Greenville.


	29. All This and Heaven Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which innocent counters are set ablaze, and Dean extends an olive branch.

"Boss, I gotta admit, when you said you had a place in Nevada - I imagined something with a little more uh, Vegas class, little less toxic mold," Laharl admitted, seating himself down at the rickety table across from Crowley. His chair wobbled violently under his slight weight, given that it was missing a leg.

"Yes, well, the accommodations could be a bit better, but with Abaddon and her goons going open season on my few remaining loyalists, I thought it would be best for you to remain low-key," Crowley explained tiredly. "I promise you, once the usurping whore is dead, I'll set you up some place nice. Consider it an incentive." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "What do you have for me, Laharl?"

"Abaddon's got full control over Hell now," his underling told him. "Everything. With Xaphan lapping at her heels, everyone's too afraid to stand up to her."

"Fear is power."

"No doubt. And she's wreaking merry hell in Hell, let me tell you. Calling in _your_ chits years early. We've got more souls coming in than ever before," Laharl said, his distaste evident. At least some of his employees weren't impossibly thick when it came to the integrity of Crossroads deals.

"She's killing people before their time," Crowley surmised. "Give me numbers, Laharl. I need _numbers_. Actually, I need a damn spread sheet and growth chart, but as the philosopher Mick Jagger once said, you can't always get what you want."

"I don't know numbers, boss. A fucking _lot_ is the best I can do for you."

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. You couldn't just kill the people you made deals with! The time limits were set for a reason. Word gets out that Crossroads deals get you nothing but a slit throat, who would bargain with them? Who would summon them? No one! They had a bloody reputation to uphold, and here Abaddon was, throwing it to the wind without a second thought.

_Stupid, throne-stealing hag!_

"Before I have an aneurysm, would you please tell me that you have some good news?" Crowley asked slowly, trying to reign in his temper. He was close to the edge, and he was fairly sure anymore pushing would result in Laharl's meat suit missing a few limbs and his safe house being burned to the ground.

"Uh... well, the angel's are putting up a good fight. Abaddon's forces outnumber 'em five to one, but the angels have a lot more fighting experience. I mean, she's opening up Gates all over the world - she's pulling out fresh souls, and as soon as they got a meat suit, she shoves an angel blade in their hand. Or if she ain't got an angel blade, anything that'll butcher an angel's vessel bad enough that it can't do anything but bleed and flail."

"But the angels are still holding firm?"

"For now, yeah. Here, I got a map - marked down where they set up shop. This isn't just a US thing like the apocalypse was. This is all over the place." Laharl snapped his fingers, and a multi-colored map unfurled itself on the table. Outside, thunder rumbled.

"Where'd you get this, a fourth grade classroom?" Crowley asked.

"Cut me some slack, boss. I'm doing what I can here," the demon grumbled. "Alright, look here. The x's are all Devil's Gates. The double x's are the bigger ones, the Grand Gates. There's only a few of those, one on each continent, it looks like. The x's with the triangles 'round 'em are where Abaddon's army's set up shop, I guess they're bases, or something. Then the x's with the circles are the angel forts, or whatever you wanna call 'em."

Crowley looked down at the map with a growing pit in his stomach. He'd known the locations of all of the Gates from the display in the bunker's strategy room, but he'd had no idea that the demons and angels were getting so organized in their attempt to obliterate each other. "This is much bigger than I imagined. This is a global war."

"Seems like it. And it's heating up pretty damn quick. I think we're just seeing the start of things."

Crowley stared at the map, trailing his finger up the East Coast of the United States. "The highest concentration of demons are around Boston."

"Yeah. A shit ton of angels are around there too, gathering together. A lot of them fell there, when Heaven shut down," Laharl said. "I'm thinking though, maybe we should set up a safe house up in Idaho? 'Cause a Devil's Gate opened just outside of Vegas two day ago, and an easy four hundred demons came roaring out. I'm loyal and everything, but I'd rather keep my ass unroasted, if that's okay with you."

Crowley sighed. "Fine, fine. Set up something in Boise, then." His eyes were fixed on the map. "How did Tampa work out?"

"Angels lost sixty or seventy guys. Took out a good thousand demons. Lot of humans got caught in the cross-fire."

"I'm not surprised." He massaged his temples. He could feel a tension headache building there. "She's no better than Lucifer. She thinks she's a higher species, somehow, thinks she can use our entire race as cannon fodder. Thousands, if not tens of thousands of us are going to die because of her."

He wasn't exactly a glowing patriot, but he was _still_ the King, whether Abaddon had her pert ass seated on the throne or not. These were his subjects she was feeding to the angels. Yes, they were traitorous, weak-minded prats, but they were still _his_.

He made a mental note to ask Gabriel to bind Abaddon up for him so he could have some fun with her before the archangel shoved his angel blade down her throat. He needed to vent some of this frustration, and a good torture session (or sessions, preferably) with the bitch would do wonders for his blood pressure.

Getting behind the torturer's knife again wasn't something he wanted to do, but for Abaddon? Oh, he could certainly make an exception.

"What about Cleveland? Are the demons in charge there, now?"

"The city's theirs. The humans don't know it, of course, but it is. The angels are planning some kind of attack to take it back, I don't know how well it's gonna work out, though. Abaddon's shipping a lot of demons there to reinforce everything."

War. A full-on war, right in front of the humans. If they made it through all of this without mankind finally figuring out what was going on around it, it would be a miracle. This was bigger than Armageddon, simply because Armageddon had _rules_. Armageddon was predicted, expected, there was a book and everything telling exactly how things were going to go down - but this was different.

This was chaos.

"...And there's something else, too, boss," Laharl ventured carefully, seeming wary of his reaction.

"Joy upon joy. What is it?"

"She's... speeding up the process."

Crowley gave his subordinate a sharp look. "What are you talking about?"

"She's turning out demons faster then ever. Hurrying up the torture, letting out the souls before they're fully cooked - she's making it messy. Churning out demons with bits of human still left in them. You'd think it would make them less dangerous, but it just makes them a hell of a lot worse. They're out of their minds and out of control. She's barely keeping them in check."

"She's letting half-formed, unstable, partially human demons out into the world?"

"That's about the long and short of it," Laharl said, watching him closely, as if he expected him to explode.

Behind them, the kitchen counter burst into flames. With a distracted gesture of his hand, Crowley quenched it, then dug his fingernails into his palm into an attempt to calm himself. He even felt anger more sharply now, with his new found humanity, and at the moment, it was like a pointed knife scraping against the inside of his skull.

"My never-ending queue is gone, then?" he asked stiffly.

"Oh yeah. She's back to torture. And how."

"You can't rush turning someone," Crowley said lowly. "The strictures are very clear on what has to be done when they're on the rack. If you muck with that, the consequences are..." He shook his head. "It's unimaginable. That _idiot_!"

"I second that, but there's no way we can stop her."

"And everyone's just going along with this? Has there been any kind of uprising?"

"When she first came down and took the throne, your personal guard tried to stop her, but she slaughtered them. Once her and Xaphan started taking over, there were a couple dozen demons who tried to take her down, but she's just too strong. She made an example. Now everyone's too scared of her to try anything, even though most of us want to see that bitch's head on a spike."

"It's nice to know how faithful my subjects are."

Laharl leaned back in his chair. "I mean, honestly? I don't blame them. The whole reason I'm still with you is because Abaddon thinks I died when she burned down your compound. If I was in the same position as everyone else, I'd be bowing down, too. She's just too strong."

"Thank you, that's very reassuring," Crowley snapped out sarcastically. "Is that all, then?"

"Yeah. I'll keep you updated on their movements and any other juicy details I find out."

"I'll be waiting with bated breath," Crowley said dully. He felt utterly drained. "Do try to avoid getting killed? You're the only card I've up my sleeve at the moment."

"If there's one thing I'm good at, boss, it's staying alive," Laharl assured him with a lazy smirk. "Boise, right?"

"Boise. Stay low."

"Aye-aye." With a short salute, the younger demon disappeared, leaving Crowley alone. He put his head in his hands, taking a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself. So, in summary: things were steadily getting much, much worse. The dim hope of ever getting his kingdom back seemed to be getting less and less likely by the day.

 _You wouldn't be able to rule Hell even if you did claw your way back onto the throne. Look at you. You can barely hold yourself together. You're_ broken _. How is a demon with humanity supposed to run the entirety of Hades? You don't have what it takes. Not anymore._

He needed a drink to quell the whispering insecurities in the back of his mind. Preferably several dozen, actually. Although he didn't exactly relish the idea of returning to the bunker, it was the closest place he had to a headquarters at the moment. It was the safest place for him to be, even with Dean most likely plotting his demise, now that he knew about his mental link with Sam.

With a thought, he was in the foyer of the bunker. He made his way to the kitchen, where he'd taken to storing bottles of Craig. No one else had attempted to drink it, as the rest of the bunker seemed content with Jack Daniels and cheap scotch. They had their preferred swill, he had his brand, and never the twain shall meet.

 _"I'm back,"_ he thought at Sam. He and Sam couldn't communicate from long distances, so his mind remained silent whenever he was out of the bunker.

 _"How did it go?"_ the hunter inquired.

_"Terrible. I'll fill you in later once I'm sufficiently plastered."_

_"That bad, huh?"_

_"Moose, you have no idea."_

He was dismayed to find Dean in the kitchen when he arrived. The Winchester was washing dishes and humming some disjointed tune. He turned when he heard Crowley's foot steps. The demon almost thought about leaving, but he'd be damned (ha ha) if he let Dean Winchester get between him and a glass of Craig. Dean's eyes met his, but the hunter said nothing.

"Squirrel," Crowley greeted cooly. He made his way to the liquor cabinet, opening it up and removing one of his bottles.

"Crowley," Dean acknowledged. Crowley grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards and poured himself three fingers. He then turned to depart the kitchen and find Sam, but Dean's voice halted him. "Wait."

Crowley paused in the threshold. "If you're looking to berate me in that less than charming way of yours, take a bloody number. I'm not in the mood. Not today."

"Hey, hold up, okay?" Dean dried off his hands on a towel over his shoulder, then turned to face Crowley head on. "Look. I talked to Sam."

Crowley stiffened. This was either going to go very well or very, very poorly. Squirrel's disposition seemed more pleasant than usual, so that, at the least, was a good sign. Hopefully Sam had been able to talk some sense into his older brother. "And?"

"And..." Dean seemed to have trouble finding the right words to say. "You and I, we don't see eye to eye on a lot of shit. I mean, you're the King of the demons. I hunt demons."

"Funnily enough, I'm already aware of that."

"But, you saved Sam, and that... for now, that gets you in my good books. And right now, we want all the same things. So I guess it's the whole enemy of my enemy thing," Dean said, and although the words were strained, they were sincere.

"Do you have a tissue? I think I may cry," Crowley cracked, rubbing exaggeratedly at his eyes. "Is that all, or do you want to have a manly embrace, too?"

"Will you just shut up for a second?" Dean said, exasperated. "I'm trying to say something here. For whatever reason, Sam trusts you. I _don't_. He does. So, this is me, trusting him, and..." He put a hand to his forehead, seeming to hold back a sigh. "There's an empty room across the hall from Sam's. If you want it, it's yours."

Crowley realized it was more of a symbolic gesture than anything, as he didn't need a bedroom - it was a sign of Dean's acceptance of his presence. Clearly, the hunter wasn't happy about it, and frankly, neither was Crowley, but this was his way of showing that he could tolerate him for his brother's sake.

"You do realize I don't sleep, right?"

"For the love of- it's a friggin' olive branch, Crowley! Just take it."

Crowley watched Dean for a moment, then allowed the faintest hint of a smile to play over his lips. "Fine. Branch accepted." He would've been more pleased by his progress with the eldest Winchester if he hadn't still been so aggravated by the news of Abaddon's crude methods of running his kingdom. Still, it did serve to lift his mood ever so slightly. He shook the bottle in his hand. "May I go to my room and drink away my feelings now, please?"

"Don't let me stop you."

Crowley turned his back on the hunter and went to exit, but he nearly crashed headlong into Kevin - almost causing the young man to drop the angel tablet. Hmm. Yes, breaking the Word of God would just be the cherry on top of his day.

"Watch it," the prophet said, eyeing him with his usual amount of hatred. Crowley backed a few steps away. Kevin glanced between the two of them, licking his lips nervously. "I - I decoded the first of the angel trials," Kevin told them.

Dean's eyes widened. "That's awesome." Then he seemed to catch the look on Kevin's face. "That's not awesome, is it?"

"I don't know. Call everyone in here... I think we've got a lot to talk about."

* * *

Ten minutes later, the five of them were seated around the table in the strategy room, the one with the glowing beacons that indicated where the Devil's Gates were opening up all over the world. Cas rested his elbows on Australia and looked expectantly up at Kevin, who was sitting at the head of the table, holding the angel tablet close to his chest. No matter how much Kevin resented his role as a prophet, it would always be his first instinct to protect the Word.

"Alright, so what's the scoop on God's 'dear diary'?" Dean asked from beside him.

"Well... the angel trials seem a lot like the demon ones. Same rules. One person has to complete all three, and then the Gates open back up and the angels can go home - obviously I'm paraphrasing, God may've created everything, but He talks like Charles Dickens on crack - but the thing is, the end's the most complicated part of the translation. It's probably gonna take me months just to crack the next two trials, but the end's gonna take me forever. It looks like someone else wrote it - someone other than Metatron, so I don't have any kind of lexicon to work off of and I can only stare at the thing for an hour or so before my nose starts bleeding like crazy and my head starts throbbing-"

"Any chance we can get the spark notes version of this, Kev?" Dean interjected.

"Okay, okay, sorry." Kevin carefully set down the tablet. "The point is, whoever takes this on is going to be flying blind. I can't make any guarantees that they're not going to end like the demon trials - with the trial-taker dying. A sacrifice."

"We can't start them without knowing full-well what we're getting into," Sam said. "We can't get to the end and back out. Not again. There's too much at stake."

Castiel saw Dean's eyes lower to his hands. There'd been no accusation in Sam's voice, but he knew that Dean still felt the guilt of the current situation on his shoulders. If the trials had been completed, there would be no angel and demon war, because there would be no demons.

But Sam would be dead.

Cas didn't blame Dean for stopping him.

"That's kind of my whole point," Kevin said. "There's too much at stake to wait. If we want to stop the fighting, then either the angels or the demons have to go. Hell's out, now we have to break open Heaven. This is the only way."

"So, what, we either send someone on another suicide mission, or we have to wait who knows how long for you to crack the rest of the God scribbles?" Dean shook his head adamantly. "Those aren't options!"

"I don't know what you want me to say. I'm doing everything I can," the teen said, irritation creeping into his tone.

"Dean," Cas said, meeting the hunter's eyes. "Kevin is right. We can't afford to wait. Heaven must be reopened."

Dean's jaw worked, and he could tell the hunter wanted nothing more than to be done with any sort of trials forever - they'd barely been able to pull Sam back from the consequences of the last set - but every one of them knew that this was the only way to begin to fix the mess that they had all helped create.

 _Perhaps we all played a role, but I was the one who bought into Metatron's lies,_ he thought to himself. _I was the catalyst of all of this. There would be no war at all if I hadn't been so easily tricked._

"Fine. I don't like this, but fine." He took a deep breath. "What do I have to do?" Dean asked. "What's the first trial?"

"What!?" Sam and Cas burst out at the same time. Crowley snorted and took a deep sip of his drink, but remained silent. 

"Don't you think we should, I don't know, maybe _discuss it_ before you sign up for this?" Sam asked, leveling an incredulous look at his brother. "You saw what it did to me! You want to go through that?"

"It's gotta be me," Dean said harshly. "'Cause there's no way in hell I'm ever letting you do it."

"Dean, I managed to get through the demon ones-"

"Bad example, Moose, considering Hell's still open and it was but for the grace of God - or Gabriel, rather - that you even made it out alive," Crowley pointed out mildly.

Sam bitch-faced Crowley, then continued. "I know what I'm doing. I know how to handle the pain that comes with them, if it affects me the same way the demon ones did. If worst comes to worst, we can probably convince Gabriel to flush me out again."

"I'd hedge my bets that they won't cause you to waste away like the demon ones," Crowley said. "Hell drains, Heaven invigorates, redeems, restores. If we're going with God's typical MO, these trials might actually have positive side-effects. No more blood-soaked tissues and night sweats."

"I'm not betting my brother's life on that," Dean growled out.

"It's not your position to decide, Dean, it's mine!"

"You're both forgetting something," Cas spoke up, interrupting the oncoming feud that he could sense was about to break out between the brothers. Both of the Winchesters looked at him.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"You two aren't the only humans here, not anymore," he began tentatively.

"Okay...?" Dean didn't seem to grasp where he was going.

"The only condition of taking on the trials is being human," Cas said. "Which means that I can pursue the trials just as easily as you two, if I so choose..." He straightened his shoulders, a new resolve building in his chest. "And I do."


	30. Fight the Good Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas is stubborn, and fast food is acquired.

Guilt was a strange thing. It weighed on each part of you, making your whole body heavier, your whole being, really. It changed the way you thought, the way you felt, the way you lived. It was encompassing. Consuming. It was like a fire, slowly burning you out.

You either let it turn you to ash, or you harnessed it. You let it drive you.

Three years ago, Dean told him to clean up his damn mess. He'd taken the words to heart, and they echoed in his mind now. Because of his attempt to restore his home - and the foolishness with which he pursued that goal - Paradise was lost. Now his brothers and sisters walked the Earth, lost and angry.

They were waging a war, and his first family, the Host of Heaven, and his second, humanity, would both suffer because of it. Humans and angels alike were dying, thanks to the fall. Thanks to his misplaced trust in Metatron.

Why was it that he always fell for these tricks? For the fanciful words of madmen, for their elegant lies? First he blindly followed Michael and the rest of the Host, then Crowley, and then finally Metatron. He never learned, did he? Perhaps Naomi was right. Perhaps he was created with... what had she said? A crack in his chassis. Maybe that's what made it so easy for her to dig her fingers into him, to break him and control him.

He'd only ever tried to do the right thing. To help. He never wanted to hurt anyone - a laughable sentiment, considering all he'd done, all the blood he'd spilled - but he'd truly been set on helping. On making things better. Logic would dictate that his attempts at improving things had turned out catastrophically and he really should stop interfering, but once a broken, misguided angel, always a broken, misguided angel.

His mess. His onus to bear.

These trials were meant for him. No one else. If they carried with them the condition of sacrifice, he would fulfill it gladly. It was how it was meant to be, and Dean nor anyone else would be able to stop him. Not that they wouldn't try. No, the Winchesters always tried.

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you take these on," Dean said immediately.

"I understand that you don't want this to happen, but I am the reason that the Gates are locked. It's only fair then that I would be the one to reopen them, no matter the cost," he tried to explain.

"Cas, you didn't shut down Heaven. It was Metatron," Sam pointed out. "You couldn't have known."

"I should've known. I should've seen through his lies," Cas said, averting his eyes. "My error in judgment has cost the angels so much, and this war, it will cost humanity. It already has."

"Look, man, I know you mean well, but you've only been a human for a few weeks. Fact is, I've been doing this gig - hunting - longer than anyone sitting at this table. I should be the one to do it," Dean said.

"I may be human, but I'm not inept," Cas responded, bristling slightly.

Yes, it was true that he was Graceless, and his power was a joke compared to what it had once been, but he wasn't completely incapable. He was intelligent, and he was well-adapted to using his fists and his angel blade. He could still fight. He wasn't powerless. He'd been under the impression that Dean thought that as well - apparently he'd overestimated the hunter's confidence in him.

"That's not what I meant. This thing, there's a good chance it ends with whoever's doing it lit up on a stack of logs. We can't let you sign up for something like that."

"This isn't some kind of kamikaze mission!" Sam cut in. "That's the whole reason I didn't want you doing the trials last time, because to you, it's suicide. You don't even care if you live or die!"

"Who's side are you on?" Dean snapped, though he didn't contest Sam's statement.

"I don't think either of you should do it. It should be me. I managed to pull off the last ones, I dealt with the repercussions, I know what to expect. I'm more prepared than you or Cas."

"We just barely managed to put your train back on the tracks, and now you want to go off the rails again?" Dean challenged, glaring at his younger brother. Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Crowley cleared his throat loudly, drawing all eyes to him.

"Not that this isn't Grade-A entertainment, but can we be realistic here?" Crowley asked, taking a sip of his scotch. "Castiel's older than dirt and much tougher than he looks - thank God for that much - and I think we can all agree, if he's really got his little heart set on this, there's not much anyone can do to stop him."

Cas was irritated by the demon's support, but also somewhat grateful. Crowley, at the very least, knew that when he set his mind on a goal, he achieved it no matter the cost. Although that had tended to end very poorly in the past, he intended for it to act in his favor this time.

"I hate to admit it, but he's right," he said. "I'm taking on these trials. Dean, Sam... I need to fix this. It's the only way I'll be able to live with myself."

The brothers went quiet, exchanging one of those glances with each other - the meeting of eyes that somehow allowed the two of them to have an extended conversation at length without saying a single word. A subtle head tilt from Sam, a grimace from Dean, then an eyebrow raise from Sam. Then, Dean sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"This is a bad idea and you know it."

"I find that few of our ideas are ever good," Castiel replied. "But good ideas are not always the right ideas, and bad ideas aren't always the wrong ones."

"That's real fucking profound," Dean grouched. "Fine, okay? Fine. But I don't like this, Cas. I can't... _we_ can't afford to lose you..." He gulped. "So you sure as hell better make it out of this alive, or I'm gonna kick your ass."

"I will."

Dean looked less than satisfied, but Castiel was relieved that Dean was putting enough faith in him to let him do this without further argument. He knew that every bone in the Winchester's body was screaming against this, determined to take on this burden himself, but he seemed to understand what this meant for him. He had to try to save his home and save his family. It was the only way to truly redeem himself.

"Um, if the debate's over, can I get to the actual trial now, please?" Kevin asked, sounding slightly exasperated.

"Are you waiting for an invitation?" Crowley flicked his eyes to the prophet expectantly.

"Okay... so from what I've translated, you have to restore a soul from Heaven, someone who died before their time," Kevin told them, somewhat hesitantly.

Everyone at the table fell silent.

"Kevin," Sam said slowly. "The entire reason we're doing these trials is to open Heaven back up. How are we supposed to rescue a soul from there when we _can't get in there_?"

"I've decoded the entire section. There's nothing else that's helpful. The trial taker has to be the one to restore the soul to life. It's the Word of God, not an instruction manual." Kevin pursed his lips. "I actually think Metatron might have purposely left some stuff out when he was writing everything down... like maybe he's been planning this thing all along."

"I'm hating this douche bag more every second," Dean said. "If we manage to crack open the Gates, we're gonna take all of this out of his ass." He looked around the table. "It has to be possible, or it wouldn't be in there. Anyone got any brilliant ideas?"

"From what I understand, the only current way to get into Heaven is as a dead human soul," Castiel said.

"You're not saying one of us should go jump off a cliff so we can get behind enemy lines, are you?"

"No. I'm merely thinking out loud. One of us dying would solve nothing, just put the soul in question behind an inaccesible wall."

"It's a way in, but not a way out," Crowley said. "But what if we had someone who still had passage through the Pearly Gates?"

"That's not possible. Metatron is the only angel currently in Heaven, and aside from him, there is no one who can go in and out, assuming he's even free to return to Earth with the spell active," Castiel argued.

"I'm not talking about Metatron..." Crowley finished off his glass, setting it down with a clatter. "I'm thinking higher on the food chain."

"What, like... God?" Dean asked, his expression showing how ridiculous he found the idea.

"No, but close... I'm talking about someone who might actually give a damn about the fall. I'm talking about Death," Crowley told them. "He's a Horseman, and I'd wager that he's still got free reign in Heaven. Don't fear the reaper, as they say."

"You're saying we bind Death again?" Sam said. "We're lucky we made it out alive the last time we tried that!"

"Hey, hold up," Kevin cut in. "Are we talking about _the_ Death? Like the angel of Death? The Grim Reaper?"

Castiel forgot that Kevin was still relatively new to the world of the supernatural. He had been thrown mostly into the world of angels and demons... he hadn't yet encountered any of the beings that were raised during the apocalypse. "Yes. Death himself," Castiel confirmed.

"He helps us out sometimes when he wants a good meal, or he's bored," Dean said dryly.

"Are you freaking serious?" Kevin huffed out a breath and shook his head. "I should've known."

"The Winchesters have an impressive Rolodex," Crowley said. "And no, I'm not talking about binding him. He's likely to kill us before we start. I'm saying we summon him and... ask him for a favor."

"Just like that?" Dean asked. "Just... ask him?" He looked very doubtful, but Sam's brow furrowed, and he seemed more convinced by the idea than his brother.

"Death's always had some weird kind of... _interest_ in us. He pulled my soul out of the Cage, he tried to help us with the whole... you know, Godstiel thing," Sam said, and Cas could tell that he was trying hard to step around the topic of Purgatory and his stint as the new God. He appreciated it, but the painful sting of what he'd done would always be there, no matter how much they avoided speaking of it. "And before that, he gave you his ring, told us how to take down Lucifer. All told... he's actually helped us a lot."

"Yeah, but who's to say this is the time that he doesn't just tell us to go to hell? No intrepid detective, just - 'sorry, you're on your own'."

"You're forgetting something," Crowley said. "Or just ignorant of it - reapers are angels, too. Different class, but still the same species. That means the fall's affecting them as well. Death's personally invested. So long as we don't press his good graces too much, I imagine he'll be willing to lend a bony hand to the cause."

"And if he decides just to kill us instead?" Dean said, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

"Glass half-full, Squirrel," Crowley chimed. "If you've a better idea, I'm dying to hear it."

Dean was silent for a moment, and Castiel could practically hear the wheels turning in the hunter's head. He was struggling to think of an alternate route as well, but he knew they were both doomed to come to the same conclusion: this really was the only way open to them.

"Do you have a way to summon him that doesn't involve one of us dying?" Dean asked tiredly. Crowley looked faintly pleased.

"Yes, I-"

"Wait, we're actually doing this? We're summoning Death?" Kevin asked, interrupting Crowley. His eyes were wide. He clutched the tablet tighter.

"Unless you've got a better idea," Dean said in a mock attempt at Crowley's accent.

Kevin shook his head. "I miss normal." He took a deep breath. "What do we need to summon him?"

"Summoning him is fairly simply, given that you have the right components for the spell - which I just so happen to possess. I've got them in different vaults and hidey holes across the globe. Granting that Abaddon hasn't gotten to them, I shouldn't have a problem collecting all the ingredients. Give me until morning. I'll gather everything together, and then we'll summon him," the demon said. "I'm assuming we're going after Bobby's soul?"

No one said anything for a moment. Castiel had also been assuming that's who the Winchesters would want back the most. The brothers exchanged a glance.

"I think the old man deserves a break, don't you?" Dean said.

"It doesn't matter what I think. I told Bobby if we ever found a way to bring him back, we would. He was happy to get out of Hell, but he didn't want to go to Heaven. He wanted to be back on Earth," Sam explained. "Plus, someone who died before their time - Bobby obviously died before he was ready, considering the whole ghost thing."

"Alright... if it's what he wants, I guess we'll go for it. If I were him though, I'd want a friggin' break. Talk about workaholic."

"All settled, then?" Crowley clapped his hands together. "Fantastic." In a blink, the demon was gone, leaving nothing but his empty glass behind.

* * *

"Hair of a siren... essence of chernobog... wraith spike... eye of kitsune..." Crowley ticked off the ingredients as he dumped them into the concoction.

"You really have all of this crap just sitting around?" Sam asked, watching as Crowley prepared the spell to summon Death. The demon was brewing it in a small pot, and it was filling the strategy room with something akin to the smell of a backed up septic tank.

"I like to be prepared."

"There's prepared, and then there's OCD."

"And where would we be without my obsessiveness, hmm? You think this stuff is easy to track down?" he asked irritably.

The demon had returned to the bunker around nine in the morning, looking harried. Apparently Abaddon's demons had discovered one of his many storehouses, and from what he'd told Sam, he'd had to cut his way through about a dozen of them to get what he needed. Now the sleeve of his suit was ripped, there was blood stained on his hands, and Sam could feel that the King was less than happy.

He wasn't exactly pleased, either. He still firmly believe that he should be the one doing these trials. He wanted to fight Cas on it, he did, but he understood guilt, and he knew that the ex-angel was being dragged down by the consequences of his trust in Metatron. Cas needed this, so he would let him do what would help him move past his mistake. Still, that didn't mean that he had to like it.

No, he didn't like it at all.

"Stop that," Crowley said, brow furrowed in concentration as he sprinkled in some kind of golden powder into the pot.

"Stop what?"

 _"Thinking so loudly,"_ the demon thought at him.

_"I'm not."_

_"You are. You're a mess of anxiety and you wish you could toss yourself on the spike instead of Castiel. I get that you have that nasty hero complex going on, but please, spare me the angst."_

_"Tune me out if you don't like it. I can't help what's going on in my head."_

Crowley simply rolled his eyes, then pulled a piece of chalk out of his pocket and tossed it to Sam. "Do you know the Enochian sigil that represents Death?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. Draw it on the floor, and make it big," the demon instructed. Sam nodded, stooping to the ground and began tracing the sigil from memory. "This is almost done."

"We have to wait until the others get back."

"Well, then they best hurry it up. How far away is that diner, anyway?"

"Over an hour. Dean's kind of weird when it comes to things like this. We're lucky he didn't go halfway across the country for it," he said. Crowley snorted.

"Well, if monsters, demons, or angels don't get to him, at least I can sleep easy knowing that the cholesterol will eventually kill him."

"Really uplifting, Crowley."

"I try."

He heard the bunker door bang open. "We're back!" Dean called.

"Just in the nick of time," Crowley said. He lifted the smoking bowl, wrinkling his nose at the scent. Sam finished off the last line of the sigil and backed away as Crowley set it in the middle. A moment later, Dean, Cas, and Kevin came through the door, each carrying a different brown paper bag. With a grunt, Dean set it on the table. Cas and Kevin set their bags alongside his.

"We got the best fried chicken, bacon cheeseburger, and apple pie in the state. Hopefully it'll win us enough points with him to stop him from cutting us to ribbons with his scythe," Dean said.

"Should we heat it up?" Castiel tilted his head.

"Would Death eat reheated food?" Kevin asked. It was a good question.

"How quick we forget." Crowley snapped his fingers. "Done. Piping hot. Shall we, then?"

"Let's get this over with," Dean said. He gestured for Crowley to go ahead with the ritual. The demon took a deep breath, holding a hand out over the pot. He began to chant lowly in Latin.

 _"Harenam maris et aeris, spiritus,"_ the demon said, both out loud and in his head. _"_ _Concurrunt, languor rilasciare._ _In ventum, ecce ego mitto ad precem. E_ _t reducam captivitatem vestram corum me... ante diem."_

There was a flash of hot green flames, reaching up and out of the bowl until it was level with Sam's eyes. There was a brilliant light, and the bowl disappeared. It was replaced by a tall figure in a black cloak with dark, ancient eyes.

Death had arrived.


	31. O Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Death is annoyed, and Cas's body becomes a duplex.

Death looked less than pleased at his current situation. "So, you've deemed it necessary to force your presence upon me once again..." Death trailed off, glancing around at the group of them with a look of mild irritation. "I assume that you've called me here because of the angels?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, pushing the bags of food towards Death nervously. "We - we got you some grub, to tide you over while you hear us out." He felt that unfamiliar thrill of fear in his stomach. He didn't feel fear very often anymore, but around Death himself? He had the right to be a little bit anxious. This was it. The last player on the board. They'd been here before. "I mean, _if_ you'll hear us out."

"I find it interesting that you assume you can placate me with things I'm perfectly capable of getting myself," Death said, but he made his way to the table and seated himself nonetheless. He opened up the middle bag and pulled out the cheeseburger. "You have until I finish eating. Don't bore me with the details, just get to it - you want something from me, obviously."

Sam and Crowley were remaining silent, standing against the wall. Crowley actually seemed visibly shaken; he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. The last time Crowley was faced with Death, he had turned tail and left Chicago as fast as demonically possible. Sam was calmer, naturally. His brother always seemed calm in situations like this.

Kevin looked like he was staring Death in the face - an appropriate reaction, considering.

Dean and Cas exchanged a glance. Cas was doing the trials, so should he be the one to ask? The ex-angel seemed to think so. He took a deep breath, then spoke, "Death... the world is in crisis."

"Once again, you assume. I'm very much aware of the war brewing between Heaven and Hell." The Horseman lifted his eyes, eyes like an abyss. Eyes like the end. He pinned Cas with his stare. "Don't beat around the bush, Castiel."

"We've found a way to reopen the Gates of Heaven," Cas said, heeding Death's word. "There are a series of trials, like the Hell ones, that will undo the spell that Metatron performed. If the angels can return to Heaven, and be restored to their former glory, there's a chance that we could stop the war before too much damage is done."

"And you are the one who's chosen to take on the trials?" Death asked, taking a bite of the cheeseburger. He seemed satisfied by the taste. Dean figured he would be; that burger came from Jesse's over in Kansas City. It was one of the best damn burger joints this side of the Mississippi.

"...Yes," Cas said firmly. "Yes, I'm the one undertaking the trials."

 _Only because I don't have a way to stop you,_ Dean thought to himself. This was the last thing he wanted, Cas putting himself in danger like this. His head was filled with images of Cas in the state Sam was towards the end... imagined Cas sick, imagined him dying... he had to force his mind away from the subject, or he was likely to go nuts with worry. Damn stubborn angel.

"So this is about the first trial." It wasn't a question. Death took another bite of his burger.

"It is. It entails restoring a soul from Heaven, a soul who died before their time. Clearly, we have no access to the souls in Heaven - you, on the other hand, do. We seek to return Bobby Singer's soul to his mortal vessel to complete the trial."

Death made a 'hmm' sound, then finished his bite. "Even if I were to bring Bobby Singer's soul back, then what? Where would I put him? A box? His body is burned, any remnant of him on this Earth is gone."

"We were actually hoping that you could pop his body back, too," Dean said tentatively. This all sounded a hell of a lot better in his head.

Death was quiet for a long moment, chewing his bite slowly. Then he asked, "Do you know how many humans die each day?" Cas and Dean exchanged an uncomfortable look, hunter and angel alike trying to figure out if the Horseman's question was rhetorical or not. Death quickly answered himself. "40,000 souls. Every. Single. Day. And with the reapers unable to enter Heaven, every virtuous soul is lost, doomed to wander in the veil forever... unless my reapers take them to me, and I personally escort them to Paradise."

Death finished the burger, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

"I'll be frank with the lot of you," he began. "I am currently playing shepherd to every lost soul that's destination is up, rather than down. I don't have time to take the few errant atoms that Bobby Singer has left on this planet and attempt to piece them back together. It's true that I want Heaven open, but it's also true that I don't have time to hold your hand while you go about doing it."

"Death, please, you're our only hope to reopen the Gates-" Cas began, but Death cut across him with a look of mild irritation.

"It would be prudent for you not to interrupt me again, Castiel. You may've tried to be God once, but now you are human, and when your time comes, I will reap you, too."

Cas stilled, licking his lips and averting his eyes. Low blow, pointing out his humanity like that. Dean knew full well that it was still something that the once-angel was struggling to come to terms with. He felt a pool of anxiety building in his stomach. Was Death going to deny their request? What the hell were they supposed to do if the Horseman refused them? Try to bind him again? He doubted that would go well. He'd warned them last time not to try again.

"I will return Bobby Singer's soul to Earth - to you, Castiel, as you are the one who's taken up the trials. What you do with it though, as they say... that is in your court," Death said, rising from his seat.

A second later, Death disappeared, leaving the five of them standing in the strategy room, glancing around in search of the reaper.

"So, we got a half-yes out of him," Dean said. "Better than nothing, I guess."

"How long will it take him to get your friend's soul back?" Kevin asked, calmer now that the Horseman was gone.

"When he went down to the Cage to grab Sam's soul, it didn't take him very long. He's a pretty efficient son of a bitch."

"Yes, that's all well and good, but now we have a very distinct problem," Crowley pointed out. "We've got Bobby, but no body."

"Is there anything you can do?" Sam asked. "I mean, you're the King of Hell. If you really wanted to put him back, you could, couldn't you?"

"If one of you were willing to sell your soul to me, absolutely," Crowley drawled. "But by this point I really think _that_ particular storyline has been done to death, no pun intended."

"There has to be something you can do," Cas said. "No one is ever completely lost, and I don't know of many beings in Heaven, Hell, or Earth with more knowledge of magic than you. If anyone can find a way to restore his body, though I loathe to say it... it would be you."

"Oh, Kitten. Flattery will get you _everywhere_." Crowley let out a little sigh. "You've got something of his, I assume? A keepsake somewhere?"

"Most of Bobby's personal stuff went up with his house back when the Leviathans got to the place... we had his flask, but we burned that..." Dean said. They must have something of Bobby's floating around, but where?

"Garth," Sam said suddenly. "Garth has one of his old hats, doesn't he? The green one?"

"Yeah - yeah! He does!" Dean pursed his lips. "Garth's down for the count... hat might've gone up in Cleveland..."

"We'll have to go to the hospital Garth's at, check if he's awake yet - and if he's not, we'll just have to find a way to wake him up," Sam said. "Would that be enough?" he directed the question at Crowley.

"If it's got so much as a speck of viable DNA, it may well be," Crowley replied. "His ashes, also... where'd you barbecue his remains at?"

Dean winced at the wording, but then said, "Rufus's cabin, in Whitefish. You've been there."

"Involuntarily, yes, I remember."

"Will the ashes do you any good? Bobby's been dead for years."

"Every little bit helps. It'll take some neat tricks, but... I may yet be able to reanimate the bloody redneck, if fortune favors us," the demon said, crossing his arms. "But, the question still stands... where are we going to store Bobby's soul in the interim?"

"Aside from a human body, there are very few things that can act as a receptacle for a human soul-" Cas began, but was interrupted by Death's reappearance barely a foot away from him. He had his briefcase with him. Dean recognized it from when Death returned Sam's soul to him.

"I believe you hit the nail on the head, Castiel. Isn't it lucky that you just so happen to have a human body at your disposal?" the reaper said, and then he promptly dove his hand into his briefcase, and pulled out a brilliant blue ball of light. Bobby's soul. Sam's eyes widened at the sight, almost as if he recognized it on a base level because of the time Bobby's soul spent in his own body during the second trial.

Then, without hesitation, Death plunged his hand into Cas's chest. Immediately worried for Cas's life, both Dean and Sam lunged forward, but a flick of Death's wrist and they were stopped dead in their tracks. Cas gasped, tilting his head back, his eyes glowing bright white-blue, almost like he had Grace in him again. Almost like he was an angel.

"What the hell are you doing to him!?" Dean yelled, trying to fight against the bonds. He looked to Crowley for assistance, but the bastard was just standing there, watching them with a raised eyebrow. Kevin stood stock-still next to him, similarly frozen in place.

There was a flash of light that forced Dean to close his eyes, and when he opened them, Cas was on his knees. Death stood back, seeming faintly pleased.

"Gentlemen," he said, flicking his dark, ancient eyes up to meet Dean's. He suppressed a shudder. "The rest is up to you."

In a blink, the Horseman disappeared. Dean was released from his invisible hold, and he quickly dropped to the ground next to Cas, putting his hand on the former angel's back. "Cas, Cas? You alright, man?" Sam stooped down on Cas's other side, grasping his shoulder.

"Cas?" Sam glanced up at Crowley. "What-"

"Seems he's now currently playing host to two souls," Crowley explained. "I imagine for a human that's a mite... overwhelming."

Cas's teeth were gritted, and he was breathing hard. He finally looked up at Dean, and his eyes... they were different. Cas swallowed, finding his voice. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but did it occur to you idjits to maybe get me _my own body_ before you had Death pull me down!?"

Dean and Sam stared dumbly at Cas for longer than was strictly necessary. That drawl, the vocab... there was no way, but... "Bobby...?" Dean eventually ventured, incredulous.

"Who the hell else would it be?" he asked. With a wince, he pushed himself to his feet. Dean and Sam followed along with him.

"You're riding Cas? Like possessing him?" Sam inquired. Oh, this was a whole new level of wrong. Bobby was in Cas. Cas who he- _nope. Nope, not even going there. Killing that thought train right now._

"Interesting," Crowley observed. "Again confirming my theory that our dear Cas is a bottom... Bobby's taken control."

Cas's head snapped in Crowley's direction, and his expression immediately turned to one of rage. "You son of a bitch," he growled, and he was on Crowley in no time flat, his hands fisting in the demon's collar and slamming him back into the wall and pushing him up. Crowley seemed genuinely startled. "You deal-breaking, slimy, underhanded piece of-"

"Please, darling, not in front of the kids," Crowley cut him off. "I can, ah... see why you'd be put out with me-"

"You DAMNED ME to _HELL_!"

"I'm a changed man. Demon. Honest. Why else would I be working with the Winchesters and their merry men, hmm?"

"The words 'desperate times' comes to mind." He slammed Crowley back against the wall, and the demon winced. He wondered why Crowley wasn't just blowing him away to protect himself.

Dean realized that he should probably stop Cas/Bobby from beating the ever living shit out of Crowley, but then again, Crowley was responsible for Bobby's soul getting sent down to Hell for almost two years, so he'd be lying if he said he didn't think Bobby had earned himself a little retribution. If anyone deserved to go to Heaven, it was Bobby, and Crowley had damned him pretty much out of spite. His current humanity aside, that was just something that couldn't be easily forgiven, if forgiven at all.

"I don't know what you want to me say. Nothing I can do is going to erase the fact that I sent you to Hell... I'm sorry. I am. But that doesn't change anything, now does it?" Crowley swallowed, looking almost... guilty. "Point is, I'm on the better side of things, nowadays. Extended Team Free Will, bla bla bla. We're at a truce, and I think the boys would appreciate it if you didn't throttle the life out of me."

"Don't push it," Dean commented, but Sam seemed troubled.

"Sorry?" Bobby repeated. "You send me to Hell and you say _sorry_?"

"I like him," Kevin commented, unsurprisingly nonplussed by the imminent danger to Crowley's health.

"Bobby, he's honestly on our side. He did a lot of awful things, I know, but... we sort of... fixed him. Half way, at least," Sam said, encroaching slowly on the two of them (three of them?). Bobby's eyes left Crowley's to meet Sam's.

"Fix him? What do you mean, you _fixed_ him?"

"If you let him down, we can explain everything. Things have been a little crazy lately," Sam replied. Bobby seemed torn between his desire to be caught up and his desire to pummel Crowley into a bloody pulp. After a long moment, he finally set Crowley back down on his feet, though he seemed less than happy about it.

"Fine. But we're gonna need a lot of beer for this conversation, I can tell that much already," Bobby grumbled.

"No doubt. And uh, Bobby... where's Cas?"

"No clue. He's in here, I mean, I can feel him... don't know why I'm runnin' the show and he's taking a nap, though," Bobby told them. He looked down at Cas's body, furrowing his brow. "Finally updated the wardrobe, huh?"

"Yeah. Cas is... he's different, now," Dean said, licking his lips. "Look, can you see what's going on in his head?"

"Nope. I can... feel him moving around, if that makes any sense. He ain't happy, I can tell, but I can't read his mind, or root through his brain, nothing like that." Bobby explained.

"So... it's kind of like soul possession, basically?" Kevin asked.

"Less of an all expenses paid trip into someone's noggin, but yeah," Dean replied.

"It - it didn't say anything about this on the tablet."

"I'm beginning to suspect that the tablet isn't something we can wholly trust. Unreliable narrator and all that," Crowley said, smoothing down the front of his suit. "If you let me take a look at you, I can see where Castiel's gone and gotten himself buried, see if we can't work out some kind of... cohabitation?"

"You're friggin' nuts if you think I'm letting you touch me. Cas. Both of us, whatever."

"Okay, Bobby, I'll explain in more detail later, but right now, Crowley and I kind of have this head thing going on, and I can tell he's not going to try anything," Sam said. Fuck. Yeah, that wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to having with Bobby. _You know that asshole who sent you to Hell? Fun fact, Sammy's sharing a brain with him. Good times, right?_

"What the hell do you mean _head thing_ -"

"Explanations for later, just let the son of a bitch give you a check-up. No rape showers, promise," Dean intervened.

Bobby still didn't seem to like the idea, but when Crowley made to approach, he didn't back away. Crowley stopped in front of Bobby, cautiously lifted his hand, then placed it in the center of Cas's chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Yes, I can feel Cas's soul... he's still in there, just... only one soul can be dominant at a time. He wasn't expecting it when Death planted you inside of him, so it allowed you to take control. He's aware of what's happening right now, though... I can bring him back to the forefront, I think..."

Cas's eyes fell closed as well, and then they snapped back open, and he took in a sharp intake of breath. "That was extremely unpleasant." Dean had to hold back a sigh of relief. That was Cas. "I suddenly feel very bad for Jimmy. Having someone else in control of your body isn't a good feeling."

"Don't worry man, hopefully we can get Bobby back in his own suit soon enough," Dean said. Crowley removed his hand from Cas.

"Can you switch back and forth?" Crowley inquired. "On your own? I'd really rather not have to drag each of you out kicking and screaming every time we need to speak to one of you."

Cas seemed reluctant to hand back control, but he closed his eyes again, brow scrunching. When his eyes opened again, Dean could practically see the change. "Yeah, I think we can manage the see-sawing thing." Definitely Bobby. "Now, I think we're due for those beers, don't you?"


	32. Not the Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley is nice, and the authoress likes Leverage a little too much.

"So. Let's summarize, here... Sam finished the trials, but you stopped him before he could finish because it would've closed down Hell, sure, but it would've put Sam in the ground, too. And then Cas made a deal with the Scribe of God, who turned out to be a backstabbing son of a bitch. Metatron ripped out his Grace, and then used it to kick every single angel out of Heaven and send 'em down to Earth. Then the three of you dragged Crowley - after giving him some kind of humanity dialysis - to the bunker, and he and Sam ended up sharing this telepathic bond or whatever the hell it is."

" _Then_ , you and Cas had to go scrounge up Gabriel - who's _alive_ \- to stop Sam from going over the deep end. Problem is, you didn't make it in time, so Crowley had to smoke down Sam's throat to keep him alive. He managed to keep him breathing until you got Gabriel to zap you back here and fix him. And now, you all are trying to open up Heaven, going off of your Prophet and the angel rock, so you can stop the possibly apocalyptic demon/angel rumble that's going on. Oh, and whoever's doing the trial has a pretty good chance of biting the dust. Is that all, or am I missing something?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. When he said it all at once like that, it almost made it sound like their lives were a little on the ridiculous side. Sam cleared his throat as Dean took a very deep sip of his beer. "Yeah, I think you got everything."

"Business as usual then," the older hunter grumbled, taking a drink of his own beer. It was very awkward trying to deal with the fact that while he was looking at Cas, he was actually talking to Bobby. Except for when Cas would take over control, in which case they were talking to him. It sometimes took a few seconds to gather who they were speaking with. It was all very unsettling.

It had taken them nearly an hour to fill in Bobby on everything that had happened since Sam had gone into Purgatory and rescued his soul from Hell. Kevin had returned to his room and the angel tablet, and Crowley had zapped off to Whitefish to gather up the remains of Bobby's ashes.

Body-sharing aside, words couldn't describe how good it felt to have Bobby back with them. Bobby had always been to them what a father was supposed to be: he was a guiding force, someone to keep them sane and on the right track. No matter what he and Dean have been forced to deal with over the years, apocalypse after apocalypse, disaster after disaster, Bobby had stuck by them unflinchingly. He never gave up on him. Not when he was sucking down demon blood, not when he was soulless, not when the devil was sitting on his shoulder... he'd never left, even when he kind of deserved it.

He and Dean would've been dead a long time ago if it weren't for Bobby, he was sure of that much.

"Okay, straight talk: do you trust Crowley? 'Cause if he's the one in charge of putting me back together, I wanna make sure he's connecting all the right dots. Human or not, he's still _Crowley_."

"I've been spending the better part of the past month wondering what the hell's going on in with the limey bitch, trying to figure out if he's going to slit all of our throats in our sleep, but... he saved Sam. No ulterior motives so far as I can tell, just... saved him. And Sam's vouching for him, so... yeah. For the time being, we trust him. Not like we really have any choice at this point, anyway. We need someone with mojo."

Bobby directed Cas's eyes to Sam. "You're the one who's riding his brain waves. Is he gonna give me no legs and six arms, or put me back right?"

"Bobby, it's hard to understand unless you were there... unless you saw him... when I was curing him, he was a mess. A _human_ mess. Screaming about love and forgiveness, and..." Sam broke off, almost feeling like he was betraying Crowley by saying this, but he needed to try to get across to Bobby that the Crowley they were currently dealing with was not the same Crowley he knew when he was alive. "He was crying, even. He's still a demon, I'm not saying he isn't... but a big part of him is human, too."

Bobby shook his head (Cas's head - this was really confusing) and sighed. "Never thought I'd hear the day when you would defend the bastard. You hated him worse than Dean and I combined, last time I was on Earth."

"I never thought this would happen either. A month ago, I wanted him dead. Now... well, I can hear his thoughts, feel his emotions - when he lets me, anyway. He doesn't have any plans to screw us. He just wants Abaddon dead, and he wants Hell back to normal. And right now, that's the same thing we want. Along with Heaven getting reopened, and he's willing to help us with that."

"Out of the goodness of his own heart, I'm sure," Bobby replied dryly. "Fine, I guess I'll just have to take your word for it." Bobby looked like he was going to say more, but his expression suddenly changed. "Do you have any idea when Crowley will return, Sam?"

"Cas," Dean breathed, seeming startled. "Can't you guys give us a little warning when you switch over like that?"

"My apologies. I understand that this is just as... _uncomfortable_ for you as it is for me," Cas said, then directed his eyes to Sam expectantly.

Sam held back a sigh. Why did everyone think he was some kind of direct hotline to Crowley nowadays? It was true that they had their mental link, sure, but it's not as if he was privy to everything that the demon thought, felt, or did. He supposed it was difficult for anyone not experiencing it to understand. "I can't get in contact with Crowley once he gets so far away from me. I don't think it'll take him long to root through your - uh, Bobby's ashes."

"Not long at all." Sam jumped slightly when he heard Crowley's voice from the doorway. They all turned, and the demon leaned in the threshold, a mason jar of gray dust sitting in the palm of his right hand. "All that beer belly, and this is all I could find of you. I'm frankly shocked Rocky and Bullwinkle were capable of doing something properly. You two should work at a crematorium."

_"Are you trying to piss him off?"_

_"Think about it, would you? Bobby doesn't trust me... hates my everliving guts, undoubtedly. If I'm suddenly the accommodating gentleman, he'll think it's an act and just deign it further reason not to throw in with me. If I act like what he expects - what he expects being me acting like a complete ass - then he won't believe it's a facade,"_ Crowley explained his reasoning.

Cas... Bobby now, he was pretty sure, simply narrowed his eyes at Crowley. "How 'bout we cut the cute, huh? Is it enough to put me back?"

_"So... you're going to act like an ass so he doesn't think you're acting?"_

_"Essentially, yes."_

_"Only you could come up with that kind of backwards ass logic."_

_"Not so backwards if you think about it for more than five seconds, Moose."_

"Depends on what we can get out of the hat Sam mentioned. I need some kind of material from you that isn't burnt extra crispy. So, unless you're going to tell me you've got some of your little swimmers in cold storage somewhere, then it's off to Cleveland," Crowley told them.

"Cleveland?" Bobby questioned. "And what hat?"

"Garth's got one of your old hats," Dean elaborated. "Crowley says it'll help him put you back together. He's in Cleveland right now... kind of indisposed."

"Yeah, along with enough black magic to sink a damn battleship, I'm sure."

"It doesn't matter what methods I use to bring you back," Crowley said, setting the jar of Bobby's ashes down on the counter. "You've got your soul, and that's what tends to get damaged or... lost in translation, so to speak, when someone's reanimated. You've got nothing to worry about."

_"Seriously, Crowley? We eat there."_

_"It's in a jar, calm down."_

"I'll believe it when I see it," the older hunter grouched. "Now what the hell do you mean, Garth's _indisposed_?"

"An entire neighbourhood in Cleveland went up when Xaphan and Abaddon first started this angels vs. demons thing. Garth got caught up in it. He was hurt pretty bad. He was in a coma with broken legs and broken ribs last time we checked on him."

Bobby looked understandably startled by the news. For all he complained of Garth's idiocy while he was alive, he knew that Bobby trusted and respected the other hunter. Definitely cared about him, though he would probably deny it if asked. "Damn... were any other hunters around for that?"

Sam exchanged a worried look with his brother. They hadn't told Bobby the nature of what happened in Cleveland yet. "We... we lost a lot of people, there. We don't know how many. Garth made it sound like the group was big. Maybe a dozen or two."

Bobby's eyes widened - well, Cas's eyes widened - and he ran a hand through his hair. Cas's hair. Okay, he was really looking forward to Bobby getting his own body back. "That's... shit."

"Yeah. That pretty much sums it up." Dean grimaced. "Well, I guess Sam and I will get heading out to Cleveland-"

"Like hell," Bobby cut him off. "I'm finally breathing again, I'm not staying behind."

"Look, Bobby-"

"Why waste time driving there?" Crowley interrupted the oncoming argument. "Moose and I can zap over, get the hat, and be back here before you can say 'necromancy'. I think it's safe to say that we all agree the faster we get Bobby out of Castiel, the better for all of us."

_"Crowley, Dean probably wants to see Garth for more than just finding out where the hat is. He's our friend."_

_"That's all fine and well, but now's not the time to get sentimental. I meant it when I said we need to do this as fast as humanly - or rather, demonically - possible. Cas is only in a human body now, and he doesn't have Grace to stabilize the presence of the extra soul. Who knows how his body's going to react to being a duplex?"_

_"You mean something's going to happen to Cas because of this?"_

_"I'm not saying it's going to, I'm saying it could."_

_"Why aren't you saying this out loud?"_

_"Because it's not something we'll have to worry about if we work quickly."_

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but if holding in Bobby's soul longer had the capability of causing damage to Cas, then he had to side with Crowley's opinion on the matter. "He's right, Dean. We need to hurry with this."

"I would appreciate having my body back to myself." Cas was back. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to warn you. It's Castiel again."

"You know, funnily enough, I figured that out on my own, Cas."

"Well, you said to notify you-"

"Okay!" Dean threw up his hands, irritated. "Fine. You two, go get the hat. Let's get this fucking thing over with."

Crowley turned his eyes to Sam. "Ready then, Moose?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." Crowley set his hand on his shoulder. Sam glanced between Dean and Cas. Or Bobby. Whoever it was at that particular moment. "We'll be back soon."

A pulling in his stomach, and he and Crowley were gone.

* * *

Crowley couldn't help but pity Sam when they were ushered into Garth's room by a severe looking nurse. The already scrawny hunter appeared to almost be wasting, his hair lank, and his eyes sunken back into his head. He was as pale as the paper-thin sheet that covered him. Crowley counted three wires and two IVs. No, Cleveland had not been good to Garth Fitzgerald.

"Jesus," Sam said under his breath as the nurse departed his room. "Crowley... he's... he looks like hell."

"Well, going off of personal experience, I can't say I disagree," he said. "Now, therein lies the question... how do we find out where the hat is if he's unconscious?"

"I don't know. We could ask his attending about his personal effects. It might've been with him when he got caught in the blast."

"I bloody well hope not. It'd be significantly easier to work with something that isn't burnt and covered in other people's blood." Crowley bit the inside of his lip. "I'll go fetch the doctor, then."

"It's okay, I've got it. They think I'm Garth's brother - or cousin, something, I actually can't remember what I told them when I called a few days after he got hurt. I'll be back in a second."

Without another word, Sam departed the room, leaving Crowley alone with the comatose hunter. He sighed, seating himself in one of the stiff hospital chairs. He clasped his hands over his knee, waiting for Sam to return. He idly watched the television ( _General Hospital_ \- apparently whoever was in charge of the remote had a taste for irony) for a few minutes, but his eyes kept inevitably drifting back towards Garth.

He could feel how troubled Sam was by the other hunter's state through their link. Although the boy was getting better at hiding his emotions from Crowley, he still let them slip through from time to time - a mistake Crowley almost never made, as he'd always made a habit of hiding his heart (what very, very little there was left of it) and therefore already had plenty of practice.

It wouldn't really be terribly difficult to heal Garth enough so that he would wake up in a day or two. And it would spare Sam some of the constant manpain that seemed to plague he and his brother... thus sparing him as well. It was strange to contemplate, though, the idea of healing somebody. He was biokinetic, of course, had honed that particular ability well over his years... but never for healing. No, temporarily mending skin just so that it could be quickly rebroken was not healing. With the power to drag his victim's back from the brink of death, he could keep them in chains for months, breaking them and glueing them back together as he pleased.

He rubbed his temples and let out a quiet sigh. He could already feel a tension headache building there. He'd been getting more and more of those, of late. He suspected his connection to Sam was most likely responsible. Said connection seemed to be responsible for many of his actions recently, especially since it had further intensified once Gabriel erased the trials from Sam's system. He not only had his own emotions to cope with - an art he was impatiently waiting for himself to master - but also Sam's as well.

How to make humanity even more taxing than it already was? Double it. His life of late seemed to be the continuing of joke of, "Well, at least it can't get any worse."

Slowly, Crowley rose from his chair and approached Garth's bed side. He set his hand on the hunter's forehead, feeling the clammy skin underneath his palm. He summoned his power, closing his eyes, and was able to sense the numerous injuries inside of him. With precision, he began healing them, slowly breathing in and out in an effort to maintain his focus. Healing was a tricky business for a demon. Angels could do it with barely a thought, but demons... well, needless to say, they were a fair bit less suited for such things.

He sensed broken bones and ripped ligaments, torn through muscles and deep internal lacerations. Of course, all were either partially healed or had been knitted back together in surgery, but he could certainly speed the natural process along. He channeled his energy into the injured hunter, letting it flow between them and repair what could be repaired. He was no angel, so he wouldn't be able to bring him to the point where he would wake tonight. But soon... very soon. Maybe the idiot would have the sense to stop hunting to avoid further incidents like this, but if he was associated with the Winchesters, Crowley didn't have much faith in his intelligence.

He felt something - confusion - and he knew it wasn't from him, so it must have been from Sam. He detected the hunter's presence behind him after a moment. He continued the last touches on Garth as his power began to flag, and then finally removed his hand from Garth's head. Pursing his lips, he turned to look at Sam, who was watching him with a furrowed brow.

"You were using your powers."

"I was."

"What were you doing to him?" He appreciated the fact that he wasn't receiving open suspicion from Sam - at least he'd earned enough trust to avoid that - he was being looked at with mild concern and curiosity.

Explaining himself wasn't really something he wanted to do, but apparently he didn't have a choice in the matter. "He's dying. I can heal him. Why not do it?" he asked bluntly. Sam tilted his head in a fashion worthy of Castiel.

"You healed him... just because you could?"

"Yes," he answered, somewhat irritably. "Now, did you get the bloody hat, or did we take this little field trip for nothing?"

Sam was silent for a few moments, still giving him that odd look. Crowley tried to glean what he was thinking, but for once, the hunter was doing a decent job of keeping his mental opinions to himself. "It wasn't on his person when they brought him in. I think it may be in Garth's truck," Sam said at length. "It got pretty banged up in the blast, but it's still down in the evidence garage at one of the local precincts. If I hook you up with a fake FBI ID, we can get inside and comb through the evidence."

Crowley nodded. "What precinct?"

"The eleventh."

"Let's go. Day light's wasting." He beckoned Sam forward.

"We're going to have to stop at the bunker so I can get you some kind of ID," Sam protested. Crowley gave the hunter a slight smirk. Did he really think he was that unprepared? He reached into the pocket of his suit coat and withdrew and ID, which he promptly flashed at Sam. "Interpol?" the hunter questioned.

"Long story... one I may even tell to you one day. But not today. Shall we?"

"Okay." Sam approached him. Crowley set his hand just above Sam's elbow, and in a moment, they were in front of the aforementioned police precinct. Sam blinked several times, grimacing. "That may be better than angel travel, but it still makes me feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Quick travel comes with a price. You'll get used to it eventually," Crowley said. "And if you're going to empty your stomach, do try to avoid my shoes? I just got them shined."

Sam snorted, and then he headed towards the door. Crowley whistled, halting him. "What?" Sam asked.

"Can't hardly go in there looking like that, can you?" Crowley inquired. He glanced around surreptitiously, then he snapped his fingers, and Sam was suddenly dressed in a finely tailored black suit and crimson tie. "There. Much better."

"You just got a complete kick out of that, didn't you?"

"We can talk about how I want you as my personal Ken doll later," he told Sam with a hint of a smile, brushing by him and into the precinct. "Put on your people skills, Moose."

The two of them approached the counter inside, which was manned by an uniformed officer. He looked up at the two of them with disinterest. "We need access to the evidence from the blast a few weeks ago," Sam said without preamble.

"Yeah, you and everybody else. Why do you need it?"

Sam went to get his badge, but Crowley halted him. _"Don't. Interpol's a bit higher on the food chain than the FBI - less negative sentiment towards them as well."_ Crowley leaned on the counter and once more removed his ID from his pocket, offering it to the officer. He actually seemed vaguely surprised by the identification.

"Interpol, huh? Fine, fine. You're gonna have to swim through the Feds down there, but if you want to, the more power to you. It's on B2. Elevator's down the hall to your left."

They followed the officer's instructions, and a few minutes later, they were looking at the chaos of the precinct's evidence garage. The attack on Cleveland was all that was on the national news, and it was getting coverage worthy of September 11th. He wasn't surprised that the clamor over the incident was still going on.

"You take the left, I take the right?" Sam looked to him for confirmation.

"As always, Moose."

The two of them split off, searching for the evidence bag that would hopefully contain the detritus from Garth's car. The searching was tedious, and there were more bags than he expected. Not to mention, there were at least a dozen suited men down there, all presumably FBI. He was bumping into people left and right. It would've been much easier if he'd just been able to snap them all unconscious, but he had the distinct feeling that Sam wouldn't approve. Still... very tempting.

Finally, he heard a victorious sound from across the garage that sounded very much like Sam. _"Well? Did you hit pay dirt, or do we have to keep spelunking?"_

_"I've got it. The brim's burned, but other than that, it's fine."_

_"Brilliant. What say we shag ass out of here? We've got an old drunk to rebuild."_


	33. Body Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bobby helps Cas out, and Crowley and Dean have a man-to-demon talk.

"A jar of ash and a hat. Kinda sad to think that's what my whole existence boils down to," Bobby said with Castiel's mouth. It was a very strange feeling, someone else moving his body and speaking with his voice. Unpleasant, certainly. It was only due to the fact that he implicitly trusted Bobby that the whole experience wasn't absolutely terrifying. He understood now why demonic possession was so scarring. Being a puppet under someone else's control... words couldn't quite capture the magnitude of it.

"How's this whole thing gonna work?" Dean asked. They were sitting at the dinner table, eating the Chinese takeout that Sam and Crowley had picked up for dinner on their way back from Cleveland. He speared a piece of fried pork with his chop stick. Cas was fairly sure that wasn't the proper way to eat this particular cuisine. "I mean... you can't just regrow his body, can you?"

"I think you'd rather not know the details over dinner," Crowley said blandly. "It's messy. But no, I can't quite regrow it... rather change existing human flesh into his."

"You're gonna take some other poor sap and turn him into me?"

"That's an incredibly basic way of putting it, but yes. They'll be dead, so please, spare me the self-righteousness."

Cas silently requested control of his body from Bobby, and the hunter quickly handed it over. "And you're sure none of the magic you perform to do this will have a negative effect on Bobby once he's fully reanimated?"

"Like I've told you already, his soul is whole, intact, and protected. We don't have to worry about pulling it up or down. He'll be good as new once I'm done."

"So you keep saying," Dean grumbled. "I just want to get these friggin' trials over with so we can start putting everything right again."

"This isn't going to be a problem we can fix in a couple of weeks, Dean," Sam reminded him. "Kevin said that it's going to take him awhile to take apart the rest of the trials."

Kevin nodded in agreement. "I'll work as fast as I can, but it's going to be hard. Really hard. It's cryptic to begin with, but as the trials go on, it just gets worse and worse." The prophet licked his lips nervously. "I uh... I actually started working on the part between the first and second trials. I don't think it has anything to do with the trials, it's just kind of like a... a warning? I haven't completely decoded it, but it could be something helpful. I hope so, anyway."

"What makes you think it could be helpful?" Cas questioned.

"I think it's saying something about a weapon. A powerful weapon from Hell," Kevin explained, twirling his lo mein idly. "And... I think it mentions the Styx."

"What, God was singing Mr. Robot-o?"'

Cas had no idea what a Mr. Robot-o was. Sam slapped his palm to his forehead and sighed. "Dean, he means the river Styx. The one in the Underworld... the one in Hell. You've never heard of it?"

"No? Should I have?"

"We'll have to give your brother a Greek history lesson later," Crowley said. "I've never heard of any kind of weapon in or near the Styx, so this is news to me. How long do you expect it will take you to crack that bit?"

Kevin looked reluctant to answer any question directed to him by Crowley, but after a moment, he grudgingly replied, "Not very long. It's a short section. Maybe a week. Two, if I don't rush it."

"Well, keep up the good work," Dean said. "You're the card up our sleeve, kid. We're-"

"Counting on me? Yeah, so I've heard," Kevin said, but with little venom. The prophet just seemed incredibly tired. After a brief but awkward silence, Crowley cleared his throat and rose from the table. Obviously, the demon had chosen not to eat anything.

"Well. I'll be getting on, then. I'll text you when I've got Bobby's body in working order. I'll work fast, but it may take me a day or two. Even I can't perform miracles. Not without ilicit soul-fuel, that is."

"Sure as hell ain't getting any of that again," Bobby growled, after requesting that he and Castiel switch over.

"Where are you going to do this? Abaddon burned down your homebase, and we don't really have a place in the bunker for it... at least I don't think. I still don't get exactly what you're doing," Dean admitted.

"What I need is my old lab," Crowley said. "I'll be going to my old haunt in Bootback. Has the advantage of being nearby, secluded, and well-equipped."

"Won't every demon and his brother know where that is, though? You really think that's a good idea when you're public enemy number one?" Bobby inquired, finishing off the last of his dinner. He could tell the hunter was enjoying eating again - really eating. He couldn't blame him. He found that food was one of the more pleasant parts of being a human, though the consequences of food were not.

"He's right, Crowley. Abaddon will have demons there waiting for you, I guarantee it." Sam looked at the demon, concern creasing his forehead. "You need to go somewhere she doesn't know about."

"She has my entire army under her command," Crowley replied tightly. "There isn't anywhere I can go that _someone_ doesn't know about, at least not any place that would be actually useful to me. If she's got demons there waiting for me, all the better. I'll rip them to pieces - I've been needing to get out some pent-up aggression, relieve some stress - and what can I say, pilates just isn't doing it for me anymore."

Castiel had seen Crowley 'relieving stress' before, and it had threatened to make even his stomach turn.

"If you're going, then someone's coming with you. Last thing we need is you getting killed," Dean said.

"I don't need a chaperone, Squirrel. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I don't care how capable you are. Sam and I'll switch off watching your back until you're done with this Frankenstein bullshit," Dean said, in a tone that left little room for argument. "We're all bestest buddies now, anyway, so what's the issue?" The hunter's sarcasm wasn't lost even on Cas, and certainly not on Crowley.

"Fine. But I'd strongly suggest that you two keep your distance from my little project unless you want to decorate the floor with the vaguely oriental slop you just ate."

"We'll keep that in mind," Sam said. "I'll take first shift, I guess." The younger Winchester rose to his feet. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. Get a good night's sleep tonight," he added, looking at his brother. Dean shrugged noncommitally.

"Don't get dead. Call me if shit hits the fan."

"I always do."

Crowley approached Sam, gripped the hunter's shoulder, and disappeared with him for the second time that day. Castiel wasn't sure he would ever get used to the unconventional bond between the demon king and Sam. He wasn't quite sure that he wanted to. His supposed good intentions aside, Cas still had difficulty fully trusting Crowley - because regardless of the current strange, hybrid nature of his essence, he was still _Crowley_ and he was still the King of the Damned.

He could tell that Bobby shared his sentiments when he said, "If I've got anything where it ain't supposed to be, you do realize I'm takin' it straight out of his ass, right?"

"Wouldn't blame you for it," Dean said.

* * *

Castiel was not an angel – or man, now, rather – that claimed to know much of social convention. In spite of observing humans for hundreds of thousands of years, he still had yet to grasp many of the finer aspects of humanity and what was and wasn't expected. However, even though he was ignorant to many things, even he realized that sleeping in the same bed with Dean while sharing a body with his pseudo-father figure was not a particularly good idea.

He decided it would be what Dean called 'awkward'. Cas realized that Dean had his reasons for not informing the rest of the bunker of their sleeping arrangements. Crowley finding out had been an unintended fluke, but he knew that Dean didn't want Sam or Kevin to become privy to the information, and by extension, not Bobby, either. Cas was aware that sharing a bed was generally a practice reserved for lovers, which he and Dean were not. Dean seemed to have a deep-set fear of anyone thinking he was homosexual, though he didn't fully understand why. It was, after all, just sexual orientation. It wasn't as if it defined him as a person.

Not to mention, he highly doubted Dean was homosexual – bisexual, perhaps, but certainly not homosexual, if his many romantic encounters with women were any indication. So in reality, his fears were unfounded. Still, he respected the fact that he wanted to keep their bed-sharing private, so after brushing his teeth and changing into his pajamas, he made his way to the room that was originally intended for him, the one next to Kevin's.

Cas wasn't sure which one of them should be aware while they attempted to sleep. Bobby communicated the fact that he was fine with Cas taking the reins while they slumbered. He could tell that the hunter felt someone guilty when he was in control of Cas's body, like it was some kind of violation – which in a way it was, but since he'd granted him permission, Cas saw no need for Bobby's remorse.

Cas laid down to sleep on the bed. It felt hard underneath him, not soft and worn like Dean's bed. He let out a small sigh, silently ordering himself to stop thinking about Dean. It was just sleeping. He wasn't a child – he could accomplish such a simple task without the hunter. He closed his eyes, letting the dull thrum of the bunker lull him to sleep.

For awhile, he slept peacefully.

But it didn't last.

_The drill approaches his eye. He screams. Naomi doesn't stop no matter how much he begs her to. He can feel his memory slipping apart more and more, and he is forgetting things. He is forgetting why he chose to fall. He is forgetting why he believes in free will._

_He is forgetting about the Winchesters. About Dean._

_"It's for your own good, Castiel. You are broken – I am only doing this to try to help you. I will fix you like I will fix Heaven."_

_He feels blood drip down the side of his face, but then he feels sun and a warm breeze. He opens his eyes, and he's in Heaven. His Heaven – or rather, the one of the autistic man that he chose for himself. The stench of blood is on the wind, and he chokes on the odor._

_Castiel looks around, and he sees them everywhere – the bodies of his brothers and sisters. He remembers each of their names and the way their Grace glowed. Jophiel. Omniel. Barachiel, and so many more. Their wings are burned into the green grass, black and tragically beautifully, even in death._

**_"_** _~~Green grass, black wings, green grass, black wings. Oh Castiel, what did you do, little angel?"~~ _

_The voices are getting louder._

Cas bolted up in bed, the sheets sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. He gasped, and he felt tears burning in his eyes. Scrambling to draw breath, he lowered his head into his hands, trying to calm himself. He pushed his hands through his damp hair, his fingers scraping over his scalp.

Dear God. He'd almost forgotten how bad they could be. Every part of him screamed to go to Dean, to seek out the warmth and safety of the hunter's presence, but he discarded the idea. Human though he may currently be, that didn't mean he wasn't an angel of the Lord; and angels of the Lord did not need the presence of a man to survive.

Co-dependency: it was the Winchester's specialty, not his own.

Cas felt a stirring in the back of his mind. Bobby. They couldn't exactly speak to each other, but they could communicate certain feelings that generally allowed them to get a gist of what the other wanted. Once Bobby was awake, he requested that he be able to speak. Cas allowed it.

"That was one hell of a nightmare," Bobby commented. Cas felt his cheeks grow warm. He'd been desperately hoping that Bobby wouldn't see that.

Cas could tell that Bobby wanted a conversation when he restored control to him after speaking. Fine. It was a better alternative to sleeping.

"I've come to expect them," Cas admitted quietly. "I've lived a long life. I've seen many things. Many of them were… not pleasant."

"No kidding. Do you have to put up with that every night?"

Cas thought of Dean, and a faint smile touched his lips. "Not every night." He didn't elaborate further.

"Listen, why don't you let me take point? That way my brain's driving and yours is riding shotgun. Maybe that way you won't have any more dreams and you can actually get some decent shuteye."

"Bobby, from what I understand, hunters are no stranger to nightmares."

"You got a point, but I've been in Heaven for awhile now… it evened me out, least a bit."

"If you believe it will help, I am not inclined to argue. I would like to get some sleep, if possible. If I finish the first trial tomorrow, I am unsure of what effect it will have on me. I would like to be prepared for anything."

"Alright. I'll try and make it sweet dreams all around. Just warning you, my idea of a good dream is a six pack of Bud and a Chiefs game, but I figure it's better than Leviathan or crazy bitch angels, right?"

"I don't understand much of what you just said, but I imagine that they are superior to the Leviathan and Naomi, yes," Cas replied. He then laid back down and allowed Bobby to overshadow him. He felt his mind drift to the back of his consciousness, and he felt a surge of fondness for the old hunter. Perhaps he would be able to escape his nightmares tonight.

* * *

Dean pulled up to Crowley's mansion in Bootback. He'd gotten up an hour ago and driven there, itching to be on the road for a little bit. He'd been cooped up in the bunker since they'd gotten back from Greenville, and he wanted to take advantage of a little alone time with Baby.

Sam had been watching Crowley's ass for the past twelve hours. Now it was his turn. He hadn't received any calls from his brother or the demon, so he assumed everything had gone fine thus far.

Dean entered the stately mansion - the doors were unlocked, though he assumed they were warded in some way - and he followed the familiar path to where he knew Crowley's laboratory was located. He hadn't been there since the night they tried to put all of the Purgatory souls back... since the night the Leviathan overshadowed Cas and walked him straight into that reservoir.

Yeah. Great memories.

He arrived at the door, pushed it open, and peered inside. Sam was sitting on a folding chair faced pointedly away from the table Crowley was working at. Dean averted his eyes quickly; it wasn't pretty. He could barely distinguish the bloody mess as being a human body. Or at least something that was intended to soon be a human body.

He met his brother's eyes. Sam looked tired as all hell. "Hey," Sam said, rising from his chair. "Nothing happened, everything's okay so far. Crowley's making good progress." Dean went down the stairs to meet his brother. "Don't breathe in too deeply. It smells terrible." He clapped Dean sleepily on the shoulder. "I'll see you tonight."

Crowley walked over to the two of them. "Morning," he greeted, almost disinterested. "Happy trails, Moose." Sam made some kind of tired sound in response, then headed up the stairs. Dean had texted him earlier to let him know he was taking the Impala, so Sam would be driving back to the bunker. Crowley needed to save his strength for the reanimation, so they weren't forcing the demon to play chauffer.

Crowley nodded towards the chair Sam had vacated. "Welcome to the party, Squirrel. So glad you could make it." He turned around and strode back to his work table.

Dean crossed his arms and settled in. It was going to be a long ass twelve hours. Even longer, considering the fact that he hadn't exactly slept well the night before. Although he was embarrassed as hell to admit it, sleeping alone after these past few weeks with Cas next to him… well, it wasn't nearly as easy as he hoped it would be.

Fucking angel. Much more of this, and Cas was going to end up turning him completely soft.

Dean wrinkled his nose. Sam was right – it smelled like six different kinds of ass in Crowley's laboratory. The faint scent of disinfectant didn't even begin to cover it up. He heard Crowley humming quietly behind him as he worked, seeming to take little notice of his presence. Dean supposed that he might as well talk to Crowley, since he was standing right there. At least it would make the time pass faster.

"So… how goes the whole black-magic-reanimation thing?" Dean asked. It's not as if he hadn't made small talk with the demon before. When they'd been hunting Brady and then later Death, he'd spent hours in the Impala with no one but Crowley for company. He knew how to have a conversation with him.

"Slow. Tedious. Mildly disgusting. About like you'd expect," the demon king answered shortly.

"Mmm. How much-"

"Longer? Hard to say. Can't exactly give you an ETA."

Dean nodded, though he wasn't sure if Crowley could even see him. "Right."

Okay. Things were kind of awkward. If he and the demon were enemies, their interactions probably would've been less strained – somewhat ironically – because at least then they would be in familiar territory. This new 'trying not to hate' Crowley attitude was just… strange.

Demons were evil. Kill evil things. It was the most basic tenant of being a hunter. Going against that, well, it kind of made his skin crawl. It's not like they'd never worked with Crowley before, but what they were doing now… it was a hell of a lot different. Especially because of the whole Sam and Crowley thing. He didn't know when it became a thing, but it didn't change the fact that it was indeed a _thing_.

"Did you borrow Castiel's stick and jam it up and in, by any chance? You're generally a veritable font of cornpone banter," Crowley observed, noticing the tense silence. Dean cleared his throat.

"Just getting use to not wanting to stab you in the face. It's a process."

"By 'not wanting to' you mean 'resisting the urge to', I trust."

"Yahtzee."

"The sentiment is appreciated."

"It better be," Dean grumbled. "It's not really easy to overlook your history, you know that?"

"Perfectly aware," Crowley responded, and he could hear his voice dull somewhat. "Far more aware than you, actually."

Dean harrumphed. "I'm just – you know, you can't blame me for waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Please. If you trusted me, I'd lose what small amount of respect I have for you. No one who's smart trusts me, just as I don't trust anyone. Castiel taught me that important life lesson."

"Shouldn't you be happy that Cas pussed out on your deal? If he hadn't, it might've been you who ended up getting turned into a Leviathan meat puppet and then a puddle of black goo. And somehow I don't think the Big Guy would've put you back as some faith healer."

"I'm not talking about what the potential consequences may have been. I'm talking about the principal of the thing: he broke a deal. He _betrayed_ me. After two years of working together – successfully, might I add – he stabbed me in the back as if it were nothing."

Dean was surprised by how put-out Crowley sounded. "Wow. You're still kind of butt hurt over it, aren't you?"

"And you're not?" Crowley challenged. Dean grimaced.

"I… there's bigger shit for us to deal with right now than stuff that happened years ago."

"You're still not happy about that whole disaster."

"Doesn't mean that I haven't forgiven him for it. But… you know, that's kind of a big fucking deal. He played God. He killed hundreds of angels, thousands of people. I know he was just trying to do the right thing, and most of it was the Levis anyway… but still. A lot would be different if he'd just listened to Sam and I."

"Well, the Earth would be a smoking crater, for one, and we'd all be dead... so yeah, a bit different."

"We would've figured out a way to stop Raphael."

"Very optimistic of you, but really, don't you think that Sparkles and I both looked extensively into that? We searched and searched for months on top of already trying to hunt down Purgatory. There's _nothing_. Short of locking him in the Cage or stabbing him with an archangel blade, there was no way to stop him. If we reopened the Cage, Lucy and Michael were likely to get out, and all of the archangel blades are missing. Cas didn't like the plan anymore than you did, Squirrel. He just did what he had to do."

"I'm confused. Are you defending Cas, or do you resent the shit out of him?"

"Why not both?" Crowley asked with a hint of dark humor.

"Because… because."

"Sometimes I wonder how you even made it past the eighth grade."

"I paid Sammy to do my homework for me, mostly."

"Why am I not surprised?" The demon snorted.

Dean let out a small sigh, slipping his pistol out of its holster and checking the bullets absent-mindedly. "How'd he even break your pact, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you guys did the whole smoochy-smooch Crossroads deal kind of thing, right? Cas ain't got a soul, but it's still binding, isn't it? Shouldn't something bad have happened when he turned on you?"

"We sealed the deal in the traditional way, yes… except there was a minor hitch."

"Okay, what was it?"

"You remember Lilith?"

"Nope. Wait, I do recall a crazy demon bitch having me dragged down to Hell for forty years and then sending someone to seduce my brother and turn him into a blood junkie…"

"Ever the wit. But more specifically, do you remember how Lilith had to seal deals?"

Uh, yeah, he definitely fucking remembered. That hadn't been a good week, between discovering the _Supernatural_ books, meeting Chuck, getting hit by a car, and nearly seeing Sam 'seal the deal' with Lilith. Something about higher level demons needing to get their rocks off to seal a deal... "Gross."

"I'll take that as a yes."

The idea of Crowley and Cas having sex made him simultaneously want to throw up on his shoes and throttle the life out of Crowley. "You and Cas didn't-" he began, but Crowley quickly cut him off.

"No, we didn't, and that was the very problem. Cas refused to, and I wasn't about to give up the whole Purgatory deal just because the bloody feather duster wouldn't let me shag him. So, I settled on a kiss and hoped for the best. Should've known then it was a mistake to throw in with him if he wasn't willing to make the contract totally binding."

"So… Cas was able to break your deal because you didn't fuck him."

"Mhmm."

Dean just shook his head. "Demons are weird." He slipped his gun back in its holster. "I'm not surprised Cas wouldn't bang you, man. I'm pretty sure he's exclusively into ladies, if he's into anything at all, which is still up for debate."

"Ah, yes, explains why I found the two of you cuddled up like a couple of randy teenagers when I dropped by the other day. Does your brother know that you sleep with your darling angel every night?"

Dean wanted to turn around and glare at Crowley, but he really didn't want to catch a glimpse of the demon's current science project. "I told you, that wasn't what it looked like." He really didn't want to explain this to Crowley, but he also didn't want the demon (or anyone else) getting the wrong idea. "Cas has nightmares. Sleeping next to someone makes it better. It's not like we're – like _that_. I'm straight. He's straight. We're _straight._ We're just friends. And no, Sam doesn't know, and he's not going to know, you got that?"

"But Moose is partner of my soul and mind, however could I keep such a _dire_ secret from him?" Crowley asked, his voice sickly sweet.

"One, you don't have a soul, and two, I know for a fact that you can keep things from Sam, so how about you keep doing it?"

He heard a soft chuckle from Crowley. "Fine, Squirrel. Whatever helps you sleep at night. The day that your sexual identity crisis ends and you come to embrace the rainbow tie-dye under all that flannel is going to be a happy day for all."

"Shut up, Crowley. You don't have some kind of killer gaydar just because you like dudes."

"Why Dean, I'm insulted."

"What, you're telling me you're not gay?" He'd always gotten the vibe that Crowley was strictly into dick, and his perpetual sexual innuendos towards the entire lot of them had basically confirmed that suspicion. Not to mention the fact that he pretty much made out with Bobby, soul deal aside.

"You really think I would be so boring as to limit myself to one gender?" Crowley asked, and he could practically hear the smirk in the demon's voice.

"What are you, then?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I don't know. Let's call it curiosity."

"Looking to jump my bones, Squirrel?"

"Go. To. Hell."

"I did, darling, I run it… but to answer your question, if you absolutely had to label it, I suppose you would call me pansexual."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"In layman's terms, it means that I just don't care. I don't see gender, I see people. Or, in terms that you can understand, I can reach down someone's pants and always be pleased with what I find."

"Just… ew. And doesn't that just mean you're bi?"

"No one ever bothered to explain the differences between sexualities to you, did they?" Crowley almost seemed amused by his ignorance. "Maybe we should just start from the beginning, hmm? When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much-"

"Fucking _stop_! The last thing I need today is to hear the sex talk from you!"

"Fine, fine… as they say, those who can't, teach – and I _certainly_ can – so I'll refrain."

"You're a cocky little bastard, you know that?"

Before Crowley could respond, there was a sound of crashing from down below. Dean was immediately out of his chair, Ruby's knife clutched in his hand. He went to one of the large windows, and outside, he saw no less than a dozen demons breaking through the front doors of the mansion.

"Sounds like the welcoming party's here," Crowley growled. The demon was at his side instantaneously, wiping his bloody hands off on his stained white apron. "Shall we greet them?" He summoned his angel blade into his waiting hand.

"No, I'll go alone. You wait here, act as a second line. The most important thing right now is Bobby's body. You have to keep it safe. I'll go take care of Abaddon's flunkies."

"Twelve to one, yes, that will go spectacularly," Crowley groused. He rolled his eyes. "I have someone who can look after Bobby's new suit while we deal with our unwelcome guests." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit one of the buttons. A second later, Dean heard a muffled voice over the other end.

"I don't suppose you're busy?" There was silence for a moment. "Good. Get here now. I'm at my old place in Bootback."

A second later, a lanky demon with slicked back black hair and watery blue eyes appeared next to Crowley. "What's the issue, boss?"

"Who's this asshat?" Dean asked. "I thought you were doing the whole heroic solitude bit?"

"I've still got a few pawns left on my side that Abaddon hasn't gotten to," Crowley told him. "Laharl, guard the mess of blood and bone over there, would you? Believe it or not, it's actually important."

The demon nodded. "On it."

"Brilliant." Crowley twirled his angel blade. "We'll be back soon." He walked towards the stairs that led out of the lab. Dean followed him. When they reached the top of the stairs, Crowley glanced sideways at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Let's have ourselves a little massacre, shall we?"


	34. Glory and Gore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and Dean are badasses, and Cas feels a certain spark.

Going into battle alongside Dean Winchester… Crowley couldn't claim it to be the most favorable of circumstances, but due to the fact that the idiot was somehow still alive, he could only assume that he would be halfway decent in a fight.

Crowley and Dean stood in the entrance hall at the base of a marble staircase, their blades at the ready. He had strong warding and enchantments on the doors, so they would hold for a little while, but they hadn't been strengthened in many years. With the amount of demons outside, it wouldn't last long. At the moment, he was just grateful that the baby ducks were without their mother; as much as Crowley was itching to tear Abaddon's head from her shoulders, he knew that he wouldn't survive long in a fight with her, and neither would Dean.

Dean had spray-painted a series of devil's traps under the fine Persian rugs in the entrance hall. Crowley lamented their loss, but it wasn't as if it would be terribly difficult to obtain new ones. He hoped that they would be able to paralyze enough of the demons that they would be able to win the oncoming fight handily.

"I hate the waiting," Dean growled. "Why not just let 'em in? We're ready for them, aren't we?"

Crowley shot Dean a tired look. "You see, this is why I'm the King of the Hell, and you lived in a car up until recently," he said patronizingly. "If we let them tucker themselves out trying to break down the blasted door, they'll be easier to pick off." He spread his hands out. "See? Logic is your friend."

"Shut up, Crowley."

He smirked. Usurped and miserable excuse for a demon he may be, but at least he was still smarter than the Righteous Man.

Another loud bang on the front door, and a few splinters of wood fell to the ground. Any moment now… he tightened his grip on his angel blade. Twirled it. He shifted back and forth on his feet. He'd had to deal with a small detachment of Abaddon's forces when he'd gone to fetch the ingredients for the spell to summon Death, so it wasn't as if he was completely out of practice.

He didn't want to ruin another suit, though.

He was just going to have to be fast.

Another bang on the door. A hole appeared in the wood, letting in early morning sunlight. Crowley smirked. He supposed that letting them in just a few seconds early wouldn't cause undue harm. "Ready, Squirrel?"

"As I'll ever be."

"See if you can keep up." Crowley snapped his fingers, and the doors opened wide, revealing about twelve demons, all looking rather confused at the sudden welcome. "Gentlemen. How nice of you to drop by."

"You're dumber than the Queen thought, Crowley," the demon in the center said. He was tall, with a nasally voice and flaming red hair. "Coming back to your old homebase when you know we've got eyes on it? No wonder she kicked your ass off of the thrown."

"Lyle, it's been too long since I've had you on my rack." He'd been one of Meg's staunchest supporters after Lucifer's fall. Crowley had captured him and beaten the tar out of him for months on end, but unfortunately during the chaos the night the Winchesters came a-knocking at his monster prison, he was able to somehow escape. "I see you've found a new whore to latch onto."

"She's a hell of a lot more powerful than you are, Crowley, and she's got Hell in her pocket. Where's your army, huh? You're running around with the fuckin' Winchesters and their pet angel, that's how desperate you are."

"Hey," Dean protested, somewhat indignantly. "We're not that bad."

"Although this witty repartee is enthralling, let's get down to the meat of the matter. Abaddon wants me dead, I – unsurprisingly – want me alive. This is a conflict of interest. So…" Crowley pointed his angel blade at Lyle. "Your move, darling."

An angel blade dropped out of Lyle's sleeve, and the rest of the demons drew their own weapons. Luckily, Lyle was the only one Abaddon had deemed necessary to arm with an angel blade. Although that meant relative safety for him, he could not say the same for Dean. "Kill the fucker!" Lyle ordered. "And the Winchester, too!"

"Haven't they learned by now that when they kill me, I just come back?" Dean asked, and then promptly launched into the fray. Crowley dove in after him, raising his angel blade to cleave off the head of the demon directly next to Lyle. Blood soaked the ground, and his head rolled off after a neat cut to his neck. Dean stabbed another in the heart. Orange lightning pulsed, and his body dropped to the floor, still and dead.

And thus began the task of evening the numbers.

It wasn't an easy fight, but he and Dean worked fluidly together in battle, which surprised him. Crowley swung his blade to saw off the head of another demon, then ducked quickly so that Dean could jam Ruby's knife into the throat of the demon directly behind him. Crowley then lifted his hand and blasted away a demon that was encroaching on Dean with a wicked looking sword.

"Thanks," the two of them said at the same time. Crowley pursued the demon he'd blown away. He pinned him with a thought, then shoved the angel blade into his stomach and twisted. The demon coughed up blood, soaking his front. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he died rather promptly.

Whenever Crowley fought now, it was a war inside of him as well. The part of him that was still a demon reveled in it, practically singing with each life he took – the scent of blood, the crack of bone, the screams of pain, it was all so familiar. So comfortable. But then of course the human part of him shrank back in horror with each demon he felled. Even though they were evil and no doubt deserved this and worse, his conscience didn't seem to care.

_These are humans that they're possessing. With every demon you kill, you're killing an innocent person._

He fought back the guilt. It didn't seem to trouble the Winchesters, and they were the quote un quote good guys, so why should it bother him? He was supposed to be the villain here, after all.

Crowley swung again, tearing open the chest of one of the nearby demons. Lyle, where was Lyle? After a moment of searching, he spotted him – he was facing Dean, who'd somehow gotten himself surrounded by three demons. Fucking Winchester.

Crowley teleported himself directly behind Lyle, grabbed the bastard by his hair, tilted his head back, and slit his throat, covering Dean quite thoroughly in the demon's life blood. The hunter sputtered unhappily, but quickly fell back into the groove. Dean roundhouse kicked the demon behind him directly in the face, and then stabbed him in the chest. Crowley took down the two other demons swiftly. He stabbed one in the neck, pulled out his angel blade, and then whirled to drive it through the jaw of the second.

Crowle heard a groan of pain that sounded like Dean. Bollocks. He turned around and saw that the hunter had downed another demon, having gored open his chest with Ruby's knife. Unfortunately, he'd somehow gotten stabbed in the process, if his profusely bleeding shoulder was any indication. One of the last demons swung at him, knocking him off his feet with an audible collision of fist to cheek. He hit the ground hard.

Dean lashed out at the demon with his foot when he came closer, smashing him in the jaw, but it didn't halt his progress much. They wrestled for control of Ruby's knife. Before the altercation could turn worse, Crowley lifted the angel blade with both hands and then drove it down into the demon's spine. The demon gasped, orange light pulsed, and he collapsed on top of Dean.

With that, the raiding party was dispatched. Half of Crowley was disappointed there weren't more. The other half felt the desperate need to vomit.

He flicked his wrist, sending the last demon's body flying off and away from Dean. He was gripping his shoulder tightly, and blood was seeping through his fingers. He looked pained, but he could tell that the hunter was trying his best to put on a brave face.

"You're not bad," Dean admitted begrudgingly, standing up with effort and ignoring the hand that Crowley offered him. "You do realize if Abaddon shows up, we're completely fucked, right?"

"Yes," he said tightly. "So let's cross our fingers and hope very hard that she doesn't show up, hmm?" He put his hand on Dean's shoulder and allowed energy to flow between them. He sewed up the stab wound, but allowed the bruised cheek and split lip to remain. Trophies of war.

"Don't waste your energy on me, you need to use it to fix Bobby."

"I think you underestimate the amount of expendable power I have. King of the Crossroads, remember? Even if I'm not running Hell, I'm not your average demon."

"Hey, you said yourself that you're running on fumes."

"Compared to the amount of power I'm usually packing, yes. But if we're grading on a curve, I'm still scoring high above the norm." He removed his hand. The only sign that Dean's shoulder had ever been injured at all was the tear in his flannel shirt. Good. Maybe it would encourage him to buy some new apparel.

"Alright, whatever – let's get back to your lab. I don't like the idea of some random demon watching over Bobby. Or what's going to be Bobby, anyway."

"He's not some random demon I dragged in off the street. He's currently my right hand man. My only man, really," Crowley informed him. "Laharl still believes that I'm the better alternative to Abaddon. As long as he continues to believe that, he'll do whatever I ask of him without question."

"Until he decides that _she_ is the better alternative. Is she really calling herself Queen?" Dean asked.

"Oh, yes. She likes to think she's snatched Hell out from under me. Well, we'll see if she feels like a queen when Xaphan's back in his Cage, Hell's mine again, and I put her to task for her transgressions for the rest of eternity."

"Yeah, you're totally sounding like a reformed, not-sadist right now."

"When did I say that I wasn't a sadist?" he asked, annoyed. "Less talk, more walk. Come on."

* * *

By the time the sun set, Bobby's new body was ready and waiting for him. Dean was actually incredibly impressed by the job that the demon had done; Bobby looked exactly as he did in life, from the blue eyes to the receding hairline to the beard. Crowley even went the extra mile and got some of Bobby's old clothes for him from Rufus's cabin.

And of course, the green hat was sitting on his head.

"Guess we better call the others," Dean said, still pacing around the autopsy table. He wasn't necessarily thinking that Crowley purposely put something out of place, more that the demon may have overlooked something. "You sure this thing is a hundred percent ready for Bobby to move back in?"

"No. I'm sure as soon as his soul's back in place it will burst like a balloon full of chunky soup," the demon answered sarcastically. Not appreciated. "Yes, yes. He'll be fine. It's his body. New and marginally improved, but still the same body."

"...What do you mean, _improved_?"

"Took a few years off, maybe edited out the impending chronic liver and kidney failure, dropped his cholesterol a smidgen, you know, a general demonic tune-up..." Crowley shrugged as if it was nothing.

"I don't know whether to thank you or be really, really worried. The 'tune-up' isn't gonna screw with him, is it?" Dean asked, concerned.

"Other than adding a few dozen years to his lifespan? No."

"In that case, thanks." Thanking Crowley. That was something he was probably never going to get used to. He hit Sam's speed dial number on his cell.

"Dean?" Sam sounded sleepy. He'd probably been napping most of the day.

"Hey. Get your ass to Bootback. Bobby's ready."

"Already?"

"Your demon butt buddy works fast, what can I say? Get Bobstiel and bring 'em here so we can light this candle."

"Alright. We'll be there in about an hour," his brother said.

"See you soon."

* * *

The four of them stood around Bobby's still body. A silence had fallen over them, and none of them really seemed particularly inclined to say anything.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Bobby eventually asked with Cas's voice. He definitely wasn't going to miss those two sharing a body. He could tell that Bobby then switched over with Cas, if the telltale narrowing of eyes and head tilt was any indication. The ex-angel seemed to be practically staring off into space.

"Do it, Cas," Dean said, jarring Castiel back to reality. "It's about time we put this in the win column, don't you think?"

"I am unsure of how to proceed," Cas admitted, seeming mildly perturbed. "Humans cannot hold souls within their grasp…" He cautiously approached Bobby's body, looking almost nervous.

"You don't need to hold his own soul in order to transfer it," Crowley informed him. "Just… touch him. I suspect the old drunk's battery will do the rest."

Cas pursed his lips, halting just behind Bobby's head. Still appearing trepidatious as all hell, Cas removed Bobby's hat and set it to the side. He laid his hand on the hunter's forehead. His eyes closed. He took several deep breaths.

Faint blue light began pulsing Cas's forearm. His jaw tightened, and his brow furrowed in concentration. The light grew more intense, and it flowed to Cas's fingertips.

"Come on, Bobby," Sam muttered from beside him.

Suddenly, the light turned into an explosion of bright, brilliant blue, and it blinded Dean for a moment. He raised his arm to shield his eyes, but by the time he did, the light had already faded. Dean heard two gasps. Once his vision returned to normal, he saw that Cas was on his knees, clutching his forearms. He was hunched over, and his expression was one of acute pain. Meanwhile, Bobby sat up ramrod straight, pulling in quick, shallow breaths.

Seeing that Cas needed his more immediate attention, Dean raced to his side. This couldn't be happening again. He couldn't go through this again, watching someone close to him wither and fade away because of these goddamn _trials_!

He dropped to the ground next to Castiel. The ex-angel's arms still held a faint blue glow. Dean put a hand on his back, and his friend's name was poised on his tongue when he was blown ten feet backwards, crashing hard into the table that held Crowley's preferred torture implements.

"What the hell?" That was Bobby. God, but it was good to hear his voice again. Two years was too damn long. More importantly for the time being though: what just happened?

"Cas!" Sam went towards the ex-angel, but Cas shook his head furiously.

"No, don't touch me! You have to stay away!" Cas bent his head so far that his chin was touching his chest. It looked almost like electricity was arcing up the length of the veins in his arms.

Dean struggled to stand up, his back aching, and Sam looked almost helplessly at Crowley. The demon didn't seem to notice his pleading eyes. His gaze was fixed firmly on Castiel.

"Do something, you douche!" Dean shouted, heading back towards Cas. He didn't care if he got blown away again, he had to do _something_.

"There's nothing to be done," Crowley answered, almost too softly to hear.

"The hell there isn't." He reached out to touch Cas against – damn the consequences – but the angel threw himself backwards and out of Dean's reach, colliding hard with the floor.

" _Don't_ ," Cas growled. "I think… I think…"

Cas's arms stopped sparking, and the blue light faded away. The ex-angel sighed in audible relief. "I… it's done. The first trial is complete. I can feel it."

"Not that I'm not happy as hell to be back in my own skin, but what did that wackadoo angel crap do to you, Cas?" Bobby asked, throwing his legs over the side of the autopsy table.

Assuming he was safe to approach now, Dean went to Cas. He gently helped the angel back to his feet. He seemed visibly shaken, but not injured. The ex-angel swallowed as he searched for a response.

"I…"

"How you feelin', man?" Dean asked quietly, trying a simpler question. Cas's eyes met his. They seemed brighter than usual.

"Hell destroys," he said. "Heaven restores."

"Try a bit less cryptic, Kitten, for the slower students in the class," Crowley chimed in.

"I feel fine," Cas clarified. "Better, actually… I feel stronger, somehow."

"Like… angel strong?" Dean inquired slowly. Could the trials have given Cas some of his Grace back, somehow?

"No, no," Cas said quickly. "It's a different kind of strength… I can't quite explain it." Cas lifted his hand, focusing in on the five digits. Dean was very surprised to see little sparks jumping between his fingers.

"Dude. The angel trials turned you into Static Shock," Dean said, giving the other man a small, awed grin.

"I don't understand that reference," Cas replied. "I… there does seem to be some kind of power to this, however."

"But you're okay other than that?" Sam inquired worriedly. "No urge to cough up blood, no fever, no nausea?"

"Like I said, I seem completely healthy. More so than usual, even."

"Well." Crowley clapped his hands together. "Bobby's back in order, Castiel is still standing, we're a third of the way closer to reopening the Pearly Gates and putting a stop to this angel/demon war… I'd rate the day as a success."

"No one died or got mortally wounded in the process, either," Sam added. He smiled at Bobby, who tugged on his hat and hopped off of the table. His younger brother pulled Bobby into a warm hug. "You have no idea how good it is to see you alive again, Bobby."

"You have no idea how good it is to be alive, boy," Bobby grumbled in response, but he gripped Sam back just as tightly. After a few moments, they released each other, and Bobby moved to embrace Dean.

Though he was embarrassed to acknowledge it, he was on the verge of tears, here. He'd never really been able to get over Bobby's death. Losing Bobby had hit him extremely hard, because Bobby was the guy that he and Sam went to when they were about to completely lose their shit. He kept their heads on straight… he kept them grounded.

When it came down to it, they just really fucking needed Bobby in their lives.

"I'm glad you're back, old man," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Fuck, Crowley even managed to get the smell right. Whiskey and Old Spice.

After Bobby withdrew from Dean, he surprised all of them by pulling Castiel into a hug as well. Over Bobby's shoulder, Cas looked confused. Dean made the motion of hugging to indicate what Cas was supposed to do. Hesitantly, the ex-angel patted Bobby on the back.

"It is very good to see you again, Bobby," Cas said. "Especially in your own body."

Bobby pulled back, and Dean could've sworn that he saw a hint of moisture in the old hunter's eyes.

"Not that this tearful reunion isn't tugging on my heart strings, but unless we want the day spoiled by getting our throats torn out by Abaddon and her bruisers, I highly suggest we make our exit," Crowley said.

Dean had to agree with him. He suspected that the next force Abaddon sent would be larger, more elite, and possibly even headed by the ginger bitch herself.

"Alright, let's get out of here," Sam said.

Together, the five of them made their way out of Crowley's mansion. The Impala was waiting for them in the paved driveway. Dean climbed into the front seat, while Sam rode shotgun. Bobby, Cas, and Crowley clambered in the back, with Bobby behind Sam, Cas behind Dean, and Crowley riding bitch. Dean figured that the demon had exhausted his powers between reanimating Bobby and fighting off Abaddon's demons, so he didn't have the strength to teleport himself back to the bunker.

Dean started up the Impala's engine, reveling in the familiar purr. He adjusted his mirrors (fucking Sammy always messing with things), then pulled out of the long asphalt drive, leaving Crowley's mansion behind.

Dean couldn't help but smile as they hit the road. For once, things were actually going their way. Angels and demons wrecking the planet aside, they'd managed to get some shit accomplished with no casualties and no real damage to any of them. Sam was healed, Bobby was alive, they'd gotten one trial done and Cas was none the worse for wear… yeah. Things were actually okay, at least by their standards.

Dean's smile turned into a wolfish grin, and he glanced at the others in the rearview mirror. "Say… what do you guys think about a little celebration?"


	35. Saturday Night Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the King of Hell drinks Dean under the table, and Sam is a cuddly drunk.

"This is the first time I've seen him pass out in over a decade," Sam slurred as he carried Dean over his shoulder through the bunker's entrance. "You're the only person other than Dad who's ever out-drank him."

"It's really not wise to try to drink the King of Fucking _Hell_ under the table," Crowley groused, adjusting his grip on Cas. The angel was still conscious – though only just – but Crowley had to support him in order to get him anywhere.

Sam laughed. Crowley's accent was significantly thicker than usual at the moment, and he noticed that when under the influence, the demon swore much more. Although Crowley had downed shot after shot and eventually taken down Dean, he was still pretty drunk in his own right.

"He damn near managed it," Bobby chimed from behind them. He was tasked with carrying Kevin, who had gone down after one too many shots of vodka. They'd fixed up the prophet with a convincing fake ID so he could join them at Bucky's Tavern in Lebanon for their post first trial wet down.

Sam made his way carefully down the bunker's stairs, being careful not to drop his brother. He wasn't exactly falling down drunk, but the world was still spinning around him. The only one of them who was even close to functioning properly at the moment was Bobby, and he was fairly sure that was only because Bobby had drank so much over the course of his life that he was incapable of catching more than a buzz anymore.

"Kevin's room is between mine and Cas's," Sam told Bobby. The older hunter nodded as the three of them headed down the hallway. He once again found himself grateful that the Men of Letters bunker had so many rooms.

Bobby deposited Kevin in his room, and Sam carried Dean into his, gently laying his brother down on his bed. Dean made some kind of strange grumbling sound, flailed a little, then rolled over onto his stomach with a muffled sigh.

"Sweet dreams, Dean," Sam said, patting his older brother on the back. He exited Dean's room. He felt an odd tingle through his link to Crowley, indicating that the demon was using his powers. Probably to lift Cas into bed –he wasn't even sure how the ex-angel was still conscious right now, as it had been about an hour since he'd been capable of coherent speech. Before that, he'd been rather loud and boisterous. Human Cas was apparently a very happy drunk.

The three of them reconvened in the hallway. "You can take any of the rooms down this corridor, Bobby," Sam said. "We've got plenty of space."

It was kind of an unspoken agreement that Bobby would be staying with them. With his house in Sioux Falls gone, the only other place he could really go would be Rufus's old cabin in Whitefish – but there really just seemed to be no point in separating, now. Not when there was so much to be done, all of which they planned on doing together.

Bobby nodded blearily. "See you in the morning. Or afternoon." He took off his hat and combed a hand through his flattened hair. "Or early evening," he added as an afterthought.

"Night, Bobby." The older hunter disappeared into the room right across the hall from Cas's.

"What, no good night kiss?" Crowley shouted after Bobby with a smug grin.

Sam heard a stifled, "You can kiss my ass." from the other side of the door.

Sam stumbled back to his room. As he opened the door, he reached out to Crowley with his mind. _"_ _Come on, I'm not that tired,"_ Sam said. He received no worded response from the demon, but he felt a small amount of curiosity from him.

Sam laid down on his bed, folding his hands behind his head. Crowley strode into the room several seconds later, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Crowley considered him for a few moments, shrugged, and then sat down beside him on the bed. He leaned against the headboard.

Crowley looked at him, snorted in amusement, and then pulled a silver flask out of the pocket of his overcoat, which he still had on. He offered it to Sam.

"Craig?" Sam croaked out, grinning up at the demon, who returned his smile.

"You know me too well."

Sam chuckled as he accepted the flask. He uncapped the top and took a healthy swig. He'd already earned himself a hangover from the amount he'd drunk, so there was really no point in holding back now. He'd actually never had Craig before, so he was interested in seeing why Crowley liked it so damn much.

It was oddly citrus-y, but on the after-burn there was a strong hint of tobacco. Definitely not the worst booze he'd ever had, but not exactly his kind of thing either.

"Kinda like… orange juice that someone dumped an ashtray into," Sam decided. He tried very hard not to giggle at the bordering on outraged expression on Crowley's face.

"Thirty plus years of drinking shit has completely ruined your taste," Crowley said, snatching the flask out of his hand and taking a long tug of it. _"_ _You're a disappointment."_

"Shaddup," Sam said, sounding a little too much like his brother for comfort.

Crowley merely huffed out a laugh as he worked on draining the rest of the flask. Sam stared at the ceiling, still smiling slightly. This was the first time he'd drank to celebrate in a long, long time. Usually it was just to bury whatever unpleasant emotions he was feeling at the moment, but not tonight. Tonight, things were good – or as good as they got – and he was...

Hell, he was kind of _happy_.

"This is sort of funny, isn't it?" he asked abruptly, craning his head to look at Crowley. "You and me. You and I."

"What about you and I, Moose? Our beautifully blossoming, possibly homoerotic bromance?"

"Asshole." He half-heartedly slapped at the demon's arm. "It's just that we've got this weird whatever going on with our brains, and the whole sort-of-friends thing. Just... remember the day that we met?"

"Vividly. Our very first date." Crowley set the flask on Sam's night stand. It was empty. "You broke into my house… killed my guards – actually, that was mostly me – and… oh yes, you ruined my favorite rug."

"Just the underneath," Sam reminded him. Crowley swatted him on the back of the head.

"Smartass."

"Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is, I tried to kill you. Remember? Put the Colt right up to your head and pulled the trigger." Sam made the corresponding motion with his hand. "Things have changed a lot."

"Truer words have never been spoken, my dear Sasquatch." Crowley snapped his fingers, and then another flask appeared in his hand. "What was that, about five years ago, yeah? I was just King of the Crossroads… an up-and-comer with an agenda of his own. The only demon smart enough to go against Lucifer… arguably also the only one dumb enough to align himself with the bloody Winchesters. I was strong, I was smart, I was ambitious… now look at me. Practically fucking _slumming_ it."

"You're not slumming it. You're just… you're a good guy, now."

Crowley scoffed. "I'm many things. A 'good guy' is not one of them."

"Well, okay, maybe you're not a _good_ guy - but you're trying to be, aren't you?" He tried to catch the demon's eye, but Crowley was keeping his eyes purposely averted as he drank his flask. "I mean... you wanted to know where to look for forgiveness. You said that, when I was curing you." Among other things, but even wasted, he knew better than to bring those up. "Isn't that what you're doing here, with all of us? Trying to - to redeem yourself?"

Crowley was silent for so long, Sam began to wonder if he was going to answer at all. Finally, the demon said, "I think I've been past the point of forgiveness for a very long time, Sam."

Sam, he said Sam... Crowley only called him by his name when he was serious.

Sam frowned, putting a hand on Crowley's leg just below his knee, because he couldn't comfortably reach his shoulder from here. The demon jumped at his touch, but didn't withdraw. "Look... Crowley, I've done some really shitty things. I let _Lucifer_ out of his Cage. Everyone who died 'cause of him, 'cause of the apocalypse? That's on _me_. And then the whole demon blood thing on top of that, and then when I was soulless, all of the awful shit I did... and about a hundred other things over the years. I fucked up a _lot_. And I didn't even have the whole 'damned to Hell' excuse like you. If I can be forgiven for all of that, then so can you."

"Here's the difference: you were always trying to do the right thing, whereas I was not. I was out for myself. I didn't care who got in my way. You couldn't even begin to imagine the things that I've done over the years. Some of the time... I wonder if I'm any better than Lucifer," Crowley admitted, eyes distant.

"You _are_ ," Sam insisted, tightening his grip on Crowley's leg. "No one knows Lucifer better than me, Crowley, and... you are a hell of a lot better."

Crowley made a noncommittal grunting noise. Sam grimaced. He hadn't meant to steer this conversation to such a dark place. He sighed, rolling over onto his side and throwing his arm over Crowley's knees and burrowing into the demon's hip. Crowley vibrated slightly as the demon chuckled at him. He was really warm.

"I had no idea you were such a cuddly drunk, Moose." He was surprised when he felt a rush of something almost akin to affection from the demon.

"Dean say's I'm a girly drunk," he muttered.

"I'm inclined to agree with that assessment."

 _"Whatever,"_ Sam said in his head. _"I'm kind of tired..."_ He had energy before, but now that he'd laid down, sleeping sounded like a pretty good idea.

"Sleep, then," Crowley told him, his voice surprisingly soft.

 _"You should stay,"_ he said, not really meaning to. He still needed practice keeping his thoughts to himself.

 _"And why would I do that?"_ Crowley asked over their link.

Sam didn't have an answer to that question, for himself or for the demon. Times like this, he just wanted to be close to people. It made him feel good to have someone near. _"Because."_ He closed his eyes. He'd forgotten how comfortable his bed was.

He thought for a long moment that the demon was going to leave. Instead, he was surprised to feel a hand combing through his hair. Crowley was gently brushing it with his fingers. It felt really nice, actually. He'd always liked it when people touched his hair. No one ever really did it anymore, though... Dean used to always muss it up when they were younger, and it had always secretly made him happy.

He suddenly had a moment of clarity where he realized that he was lying in his bed with the _male_ King of _Hell_ , who was stroking his fingers through his hair while he snuggled into his side. The moment of clarity was quickly replaced by a drunken _who gives a fuck_ and he let out a content sigh, already feeling a wave of sleep coming to claim him.

"Hey... don't know if it matters... but I'm glad there weren't any bullets in the Colt that day," Sam muttered, barely audible. He felt a strange surge of emotion from Crowley, something that housed itself right in his chest and pulsed almost painfully. Before he had time to analyze it, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next few days passed by somewhat peacefully; Dean went on a trip to restock the bunker, and while he went grocery and necessity shopping, Sam took Cas to get an anti-possession tattoo. He needed one as well, since Crowley had burnt through his. Cas chose to get his between his shoulder blades for a likely wing-related reason. Sam chose to get his new one on his shoulder. Hopefully there wouldn't be another incident where Crowley would deem it necessary to burn through it, because he really didn't need two of the demon's hand prints on him.

Cas took the tattoo like a champ. He was almost as stone cold about it as Linda Tran, though Sam did see him wince a few times. Pain was still something Cas wasn't wholly accustomed to, at least not on a corporeal level. Cas didn't seem to be experiencing any negative effects from the first trial, other than the fact that he'd successfully shorted out six lamps already. The ex-angel was somewhat... sparky, now. He was just happy that the trials weren't forcing the angel to waste away, like they'd done to him.

Bobby still needed a more thorough catching up on recent events, as they'd only given him an overview when he'd been riding around in Cas. Everything from the attack on Richard Roman Enterprises and on was fuzzy for him, since Sam had only gone over a few things when he'd rescued Bobby from Hell. Once they had him more informed on current events, Bobby promptly buried himself in the Letters library, seeming delighted at the amount of lore now available to him. He was searching for anything that could kill a Knight of Hell or take out an archangel – since that was essentially what Xaphan had turned himself into, with the help of the Hell souls.

Crowley was in and out. The demon was flitting around, keeping track of the movements of the demons and the angels. There'd been no cataclysmic fights since Tampa, luckily, but there were skirmishes up and down the east coast, and there'd been an instance down in Arizona that incurred a few dozen human casualties. Sam was nervous, however – nervous for another Cleveland. Hundreds of dead humans and angels… they couldn't afford to let something like that happen again.

Sam vaguely remembered the night he'd fallen asleep drunk with Crowley in bed next to him. He was painfully embarrassed by the whole thing - he was a completely different person when he was drunk. Dean said booze made him honest. He supposed that honestly meant that he wanted to cuddle with the King of Hell. And that was... well, that was not a good thing, he was pretty sure. When he'd woken up the next morning, Crowley was gone, and he was clutching a pillow. The demon didn't mention it, and he was grateful for that much.

Kevin worked on the tablet, as always. He worried that the prophet was going to have another psychotic break if he kept pushing himself like this, but Sam knew there was little that he could do to dissuade the teen from his bordering on obsessive behavior. Kevin wanted this over, and the only way for it to be over was to finish translating the last of the tablets. The trio was almost complete, so he was getting close to the light at the end of his tunnel.

What was waiting for him, however, was up for debate. Thanks to Crowley, Kevin had lost everyone. He wanted to speak to the demon about finding some way to bring Channing and Kevin's mother back, but he didn't know if Crowley would be capable of it, considering he no longer had control of Hell – not to mention the fact that he was relatively sure that both of the women in question went up, rather than down, and their souls were locked down tight in Heaven.

Maybe when this was all over, they could figure out a way to give Kevin his life back. It was the very least they owed him.

Dean continued teaching Cas how to shoot, and he began giving him lessons on how to drive – an incredibly useful skill to have, considering the amount they tended to find themselves on the road. He didn't use the Impala, naturally, rather the '57 Nomad in the bunker's garage. Dean often came back from said lessons looking frustrated but somewhat proud, so he assumed it went well enough. He offered to help teach Cas, but Dean informed him that he didn't want Cas to end up driving like an old lady, so it would be best if he instructed him.

Old lady. Pfft. He only drove a few miles under the speed limit. His accident with Riot the year prior had taught him to be a much more cautious driver.

This left Sam with very little to do. He generally spent his days tackling the Men of Letters' massive library with Bobby, trying to find anything of use. While Bobby searched for mentions of weapons that could destroy their current big bads, Sam looked for a way to find Joshua. If God was still talking to Joshua, he was bound to know something useful – hopefully a way to lock Xaphan back in his Cage before they opened the Gates. Finishing the trials was going to take several months, and the world didn't necessarily have several months, at this rate.

Cas kept saying that they should find a way to get in contact with the angels, but Dean insisted it wasn't a good idea; after all, the Host of Heaven was currently under the assumption – or so they imagined – that Cas had been purposefully helping Metatron to shut down Heaven. They didn't know that the Scribe had tricked him into providing assistance. Needless to say, Cas was public enemy number one at the moment.

Still, the ex-angel was adamant, and Sam knew that Dean would wear down eventually. When it came to Cas, he could only last so long. His brother definitely had a weakness for the fallen angel.

There was another topic that was somehow avoiding mention – whether he and Dean were going to get back on the road or not. Neither of them had mentioned anything, but he knew that his brother was thinking about it as well. No matter what disaster they had on their plates, they always did normal hunts, even when the apocalypse was on.

They hadn't done a normal hunt in almost two months, now. Not since they took care of those djinn with Charlie back in April. He certainly didn't count Dean and Cas's search for Gabriel as a normal hunt by any means. He still didn't know exactly what the archangel had done to the two of them… whenever he mentioned it, both of them tensed up, and either his brother or Cas would make up an excuse to leave the room.

Sam wasn't sure as to how it would work if they did start hunting again. He knew Cas wanted to be a hunter, and he'd gotten the anti-possession tattoo, but had he really gotten a hang of being a human enough for him to come with them? He supposed the only way to learn was by doing, but hunting was a risky job, and Cas was just as fragile as he and Dean, now…

He just didn't know. And what would Bobby do? Hunt, or stay here and research? He knew the hunter wanted to set up a similar hub to what he had in Sioux Falls, and he'd found a switch board in one of the rooms deeper into the bunker that would do the job, so he would probably fall into the same role he had when he was alive the first time… but then there was Crowley to think about, as well. Would he want to come on their hunts purely out of boredom, or would he remain at the bunker, possibly helping Bobby or looking after Kevin?

Bobby was learning to resist the urge to kill Crowley, but Kevin was less motivated to tolerate the demon's presence. He was surprised that the prophet hadn't devil trapped the demon and tried to stab him to death yet – he was half-expecting it to happen any day now. He knew that Crowley was, as well.

He had a lot of questions, not many answers, and he didn't even know what answers he wanted.

Kevin eventually translated the part of the tablet regarding a weapon; it was simultaneously very good news and very bad news.

"Stygian ice?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah," Kevin said, setting down his notebook of translations on the strategy table. The six of them had gathered to hear what the Prophet discovered. "As in, swords made of ice from the river Styx in Hell. They can kill anything short of an archangel – which means any regular angel, but also means it can take down Knights of Hell, too. Also, if you're stabbed with one, there's no way you can heal the wound magically. If it isn't somewhere vital it'll heal very slowly on its own, but if it's your heart, your throat, somewhere like that? You're dead."

"So, we've found a way to kill Abaddon without having to rely on Gabe," Dean surmised. "But the only way to get to it is to go to Hell, which we can't get to all that easily right now."

"Not just get to Hell – we'd have to find a way to freeze water from the Styx and craft it into a blade, which would be an incredibly difficult process. From what I understand, the waters of the Styx burn hot as fire." Castiel looked to Crowley for confirmation, and the demon nodded.

"Oh, yes. Hot as Hellfire. Freezing it, well, that would be a trick… and making it to the Styx without getting our heads torn off would be rather difficult, considering Abaddon's most likely got wanted posters of my gorgeous visage plastered all over Hades," the demon said. "I think it would be better to throw in with Gabriel at this point and hope that he comes through for us."

"Gabriel ain't exactly the most reliable tool in the shed," Bobby pointed out.

"He saved Sam when you asked him to," Kevin said. "I don't see why he wouldn't want to help take down Abaddon."

"That still leaves Xaphan, though, and we don't even know if Gabriel can take him," Dean reminded them. "We really gotta find a way to cram that son of a bitch back in his Cage. Abaddon ain't gonna be so tough once she doesn't have some super revved angel to hide behind."

"Speaking of," Bobby said. "I think I found something that can help us track down Joshua."

"Really? That's great," Sam said. He'd been under the assumption that Bobby had only been searching for ways to deal with Abaddon and Xaphan. He didn't know that he'd been looking into their search for Joshua as well. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure how much you're gonna like it…"

"What a wonderful preface." Crowley arched a sardonic eyebrow.

"Joshua's the angel of the Garden in Heaven, right? He watches out for that place. Well, if he ain't in Heaven anymore, where's he gonna go?"

There was silence around the table. Sam was fairly sure that they all knew where this was going.

Bobby grimaced. "...I think we gotta find the Garden of Eden."


	36. The Garden's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Winchesters face separation in the name of world-saving, and Dean isn't happy about it.

"The Garden of Eden," Dean repeated. "The Garden of EDEN, which no one has seen in like, millions of years? _That_ Garden?"

"You don't have to be a smartass about it. It's a pretty tall order, I know, but we've done a hell of a lot more with a hell of a lot less," Bobby began. "There's enough lore on the damn thing that if we put our heads to it, we can find the place. If you wanna shake Joshua down, I figure this is the best way to do it."

"Yeah, except for the fact that the Garden of Eden's been lost for millenniums, hasn't it?" Kevin spoke up.

"He's right. I mean, do the angels even know where it is?" Sam directed the question to Cas. Cas seemed almost saddened by the question.

"I…" He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "The Garden's location is ever changing. After it was corrupted, it was no longer a solid place on Earth. It shifts and changes to whatever location will properly protect it - true bastions of nature, of God's creation. The further man spreads, the further it has to recede. Angels are ingrained with the knowledge of where the Garden is, but Naomi's tampering... I don't believe many of us have the ability to sense it anymore. Even if I was an angel, it is unlikely that I would be able to sense where it is at this particular time."

"What, the bitch poked around in your heads, and now you can't sniff your way back to the Garden?" Dean asked.

Cas ducked his head. He didn't like to admit that Naomi's torture had taken away much of his memory – there were blank spots that stretched for centuries, now. She had almost completely erased him when she had her claws into him. It still terrified him to think of how much of his life he lost at the hands of the other angel. How much of _himself_ he lost. God only knows what would have happened to him if he hadn't found the angel tablet.

"Yes," he answered stiffly.

Dean's hands tightened into fists on the tabletop. "If Metatron hadn't already killed her, I would hunt her down for what she did to you, Cas. I would."

"Can we stow the white knight act for a moment?" Crowley asked dryly as Cas felt his cheeks heat up. Dean always seemed to express his feelings by plotting acts of violence against others. Cas couldn't say that he disliked the method. Knowing that Dean would kill for him… it made him feel cared for. He knew that wasn't strictly functional, but nothing ever was with the Winchesters. "Loathe as I am to sign up for the wild goose chase that this is likely to be – I can't say that it's not possible."

"Meaning?" Dean asked.

"Meaning that it may well be _possible_ , moron," Crowley said with an exasperated sigh. "With the right resources, the right research, the right supernatural assistance-" He gestured pointedly at himself "We might be able to find it."

"What are you thinking, Crowley?" Sam inquired. The demon clasped his hands together, glancing around the table.

"I can zap to and fro, checking all the likely locations, search them as thoroughly as necessary. Chances are it's either in Africa or the Middle East – at least that's what all the lore says – so it's not as if we have to search the entirety of the planet. I figure it this way; I head to all manner of exotic locations, have a look around, drag Moose and Bobby with me. They can research at the local libraries while I go Garden hunting. They feed me locations, I go to them. With how quickly I can move from place to place, it might actually be doable."

"Why Sam and Bobby? Why not all of us?" Dean asked, not sounding pleased in the least.

Crowley gave Dean a look that seemed to express disappointment in what he perceived to be the hunter's lack of intellect. "Bobby, how many languages do you know well enough to read?"

Bobby chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to think. "Eh… twelve, thirteen maybe."

"And you, Sam?"

"Fluently? Four. I can get by in about seven, though."

Crowley redirected his eyes to Dean. "And how many do _you_ know, Dean?"

Dean glared at the demon. After a long moment, he muttered, "Two."

"And my point is proven: Sam and Bobby can clear through more literature faster and more thoroughly than you."

"What about Cas? He's a fuckin' angel of the Lord – he can read every language there is."

Cas pursed his lips. Once he again, he was going to have to admit to another deficit to his once great power. "That's no longer true, Dean. Although I am still reasonably intelligent as a human, much of my knowledge has been limited due to my species change. I still know Enochian, as it is my language of origin, and English – as that was the language Jimmy spoke – but besides those two, I am not fluent in any other tongues."

Dean seemed at a loss for a moment. It was times like this that he desperately yearned to have his powers back; he would be of so much more use to the Winchesters if he was as strong as he was before. He felt almost like a burden to the brothers.

"I suspected as much," Crowley said. "So Moose, dear old Robert, and myself – we're best suited to handle this. There's no reason to make it a family vacation."

"You ain't my family, asshat," Dean growled out, his temper seeming to flare. "And what the hell are Cas and I supposed to do while you three traipse over to the other side of the world?"

"Play guardian angel to the cutest little prophet, keep track of the angel and demon fisticuffs – whatever it is you do. You are a _hunter_ , aren't you? Why don't you _hunt_? I'm sure there's plenty of monsters out there still treating the population like an all you can eat buffet."

"W-what, you mean Cas and I hunt? Hit the road like everything's just peachy fine?"

"I honestly don't give a damn what you do," Crowley replied. "As long as no longer arguing with me when you know I'm right is somewhere in the itinerary, I could care less."

Castiel thought about the idea of hunting with Dean. He'd gone on hunts with the Winchester brothers before, but it was under considerably different circumstances. He was with both of the brothers, generally accompanied by Bobby when the hunter was alive. And of course, he'd been an angel, then.

His hunt for Gabriel had gone relatively well – neither he nor Dean had been critically injured and they had successfully tracked down Gabriel. To a certain degree, he almost enjoyed it. It made him feel capable again. Made him feel useful when lately he felt more and more like a liability.

He would miss Sam and Bobby (he couldn't exactly say the same for Crowley) but going hunting with Dean was an idea he found himself fond of.

Dean looked to Sam and Bobby. "What do you two think about this?"

Bobby shrugged. "I'm not huge on the idea of jumping on a demon jet and runnin' around halfway 'cross the world, but if it gets the job done, then you're not gonna hear me complaining."

Sam scratched the back of his head. "I don't want to separate anymore than you do, Dean," he said. "But you and Cas should probably stick close so you're here when Kevin decodes the next angel trial. And I've been thinking, well, we haven't been going on hunts these past couple weeks. Doesn't that feel a little... _wrong_ to you?"

Dean met his brother's eyes, and something silent seemed to pass between the two of them. "I don't want you that far away, Sammy."

"If we work hard and we work fast, we'll be back before you even notice that we're gone."

This didn't seem to comfort Dean at all.

"Are you sure about this?"

"We need to find Joshua, Dean. He's the only angel God ever bothered talking to after Lucifer fell - we need to know what he knows. Especially if it means we can find a way to shove Xaphan back in his cage."

Dean didn't seem capable of arguing with that. "Fine," he said. "But just for the record, I don't like this."

"You don't have to like it, Squirrel," Crowley told him. "You just have to accept it."

"That seems to be how a lot of things are rolling, lately," Dean said contemptuously. "Kevin, you okay with this?"

"If it stops more people from dying in this angel and demon war, and it gets _him_ out of here, I'm more than okay with it," the prophet answered. Crowley frowned, but by this point, the demon seemed to have mostly adjusted to Kevin's passionate hatred of him.

"All settled, then? Pink ponies and happy skies all around?" Crowley asked. Dean fumed silently. Castiel cleared his throat.

"I believe we're all in agreement, yes."

"Then the three of us will leave tomorrow morning," Crowley said. "If you've a problem, speak now or forever hold your peace..." He flicked his eyes between Sam and Bobby, but neither of them seemed to take issue with his proposal.

"The sooner we leave, the sooner we get it over with," Bobby said.

"Fucking great," Dean muttered. Without another word, Dean pushed himself away from the table and promptly departed the room. Castiel watched after him, a frown tugging at his features. He wanted to go after Dean, but he knew that at the moment, the hunter wanted to be alone.

Alone, or with his brother.

* * *

Dean sat in his room, his hands folded behind his head as he lost himself to the strains of Kashmir. It was the best thing he could think of to calm himself. At least Zeppelin wasn't leaving to go thousands of miles away to hunt for the Garden of Eden.

He knew he was being kind of childish about all of this. Damn aware of it. But there'd never really been a point in his life – other than those few months after Lucifer was released – that he and Sam had both _agreed_ to be separate from each other. Stanford, that was just Sam getting as far away as humanly possible from Dad. Death tore them apart several times, but never for long. Purgatory stood between them for awhile, but thanks to Benny, he was able to conquer that as well.

Hell, it seemed like he and his brother spent a good amount of their time just trying to get back to each other. They'd never voluntarily chosen something like this… and he didn't want Sam somewhere that he couldn't watch out for him. Okay, so Sammy was an adult, whatever, but that didn't change the fact that he was fucking _biologically programmed_ to keep Sam safe. He couldn't do that if Sam was over in the Middle East, or where the fuck ever Crowley was dragging him to, now could he?

And hunting without Sam? For a large majority of his life, he'd always hunted with Sam. It's not that he didn't like the idea of hunting with Cas, or anything – he trusted the ex-angel with his life, and Cas was damn impressive in a fight – but he just wasn't used to hunting without his brother by his side. They were Sam and Dean. Dean and Sam. Brothers.

He internally berated himself for being such a wuss about all of this; it wasn't as if he couldn't get along without Sam. When his brother had been in college, he hadn't spontaneously combusted or had a mental breakdown or something. He would be fine. He told himself he was worrying needlessly. Sam could take care of himself, and if that failed, Bobby and Crowley could certainly handle anything that came their way.

Jesus, he just hoped that they didn't take long with this little research expedition of theirs. He already felt sick at the idea of Sam leaving. He didn't even want to imagine how he would feel once Sam was actually gone. His little brother may get on his last nerve from time to time, but it was worth it to keep him close and keep him safe.

He was very disappointed in himself when he realized that this felt a hell of a lot like _separation anxiety_.

A loud knock on his door startled him. He grimaced, pushing off his head phones. "Come in," he called. The door opened, and Sam entered his room, shutting the door behind him. Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Sammy. You don't need to come and have a 'talk' with me. I'm not a friggin' teenage girl."

"Really?" Sam asked. He sank down on Dean's bed, perching near his feet. "What do teenage girls do when they're upset, again? Go lock themselves in their rooms and…" He gestured at the head phones, which were still blasting Led Zeppelin. "Listen to music."

"The door wasn't locked."

Sam snorted. "Look, Dean, I know you don't want this. I'm not exactly jumping to do it either, especially given the fact that it could just end up being a tremendous waste of time, but if we've got a snowball's chance of getting rid of Xaphan before things get any worse, we have to take it."

"I already know all that, that's why I agreed to it." Dean sat up, sitting Indian style. "You don't have to convince me of anything. I already said to go for it."

"That doesn't change the fact that it bothers you."

"Of course it bothers me, Sam!" Dean burst out, frustrated. "I mean, doesn't it bother you? We've been attached at the damn hip since you were still in diapers, and now you're – you're running off on some quest to find the Garden of Eden? With _Crowley_? I mean, we've been apart before, yeah, but I've never had to sign off on it. That changes things, you know? I'm… I'm _letting_ you walk away, and if something happens to you while you're over there? That's on _me_."

"No, it isn't on you. It's on me, because I'm the one who's responsible for my own well-being," Sam said slowly, then pursed his lips. Oh, he was getting the concerned face. Great. "Every stubbed toe I get isn't some black stain on your soul. I'm a grown man."

"I know, just…" He shook his head. "I don't know what the hell to say. I'm being a little girl about this, I get that."

"No, it's… I get it. I do. I mean, people always say we're codependent, and we don't talk about it… but we are. We are a codependent, needy, dysfunctional, unhealthy _disaster_ of a brotherly relationship."

"Well gee, don't sugarcoat it, Sam."

"I'm being honest. We – we barely know how to get by without each other! The first time I died, you sold your soul, the first time you died, I turned into a blood junkie."

"Last time I died, you got a dog and girlfriend and settled down. You were happy," Dean pointed out.

"I was trying to be happy. And that was pure luck. I don't have half of a clue what would have happened to me if Amelia hadn't found me. I would've… God only knows what I would've done. Nothing good."

Dean sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "You got a point here, or do you just really want me to understand the fact that the two of us are basically wrecks?"

"I'm saying that we're both in our thirties – hell, you're pushing forty-"

"Please don't remind me."

"-and we have to learn to deal with this. We have to learn to be independent by choice, not just because one of us is in Hell or Purgatory. Someday, if we're lucky, maybe one of us is going to end up settling down with someone. We're not always going to be able to do the sibling act, no matter how much we want to."

"I thought you'd given up on the whole apple pie life thing?" Dean asked.

"I… I guess almost dying kind of changed my perspective. I'm young, Dean. I've got a lot of my life left. I could still do something more than this."

"What, you want to give up hunting?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying that things don't always have to be how they've always been. The two of us against the world. Haven't you noticed that we're slowly starting to fill this place up?" Sam gave him a weak smile. "Kevin, Crowley, Bobby, Cas… a month ago, the bunker felt empty. Now it feels kind of like a home, sort of. And we're legacies, right? Shouldn't it be our duty to maybe pick up where the Men of Letters left off?"

"…like organizing all the hunters? Getting some nerds on research, setting up a hub like Bobby wants to, only… bigger?"

Sam nodded, and he could read the careful excitement in his brother's eyes. "We could change things, Dean. We could change what it means to be a hunter. We could make it so it isn't all about death and pain. No more of that 'bloody or sad' crap. We could get organized. We could train people. Pool resources, share information, go in teams… it would take a long time, and a lot of work, but I think we could do it. And if we change what it means to be a hunter, we could change our lives." Sam huffed out a short laugh. "We could actually _have_ lives."

Dean blinked, actually surprised by Sam's impassioned speech. "You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I have."

Dean tried to imagine this vision of his brother's, tried to picture a hunting community that was legitimately organized… well-trained teams of hunters dispatched by someone like Bobby or Sam to take care of a supernatural threat, armed with exactly what lore and weapons were required for the job. And when they were done… they could go home. The risk would still be there, but most hunters died because they were outnumbered, unprepared, or caught off guard – this operation Sam wanted to build up, it could save a lot of them.

Maybe, just maybe, hunters could get happy endings. Dog and a yard, then killing vamps on the weekends. It sounded almost too good to be true.

"I don't know, man. Sounds a little too fairytale for us, doesn't it?" He gave his brother a weak smile. Sam returned it.

"We can do it, I think. Once we deal with Abaddon and Xaphan and get the angels back home and Crowley back on the throne… we can start. If you want."

He could see what Sam was trying to do here. He was trying to give him a light at the end of the tunnel. After all their current shit was put to bed – if they all lived through it – they could start working towards something good. Something that could save a lot of lives.

"Make it back to me alive, and we'll do it," he said quietly. He clapped his brother on the shoulder. "You just gotta make it back to me, Sammy."

Sam's expression softened. "I will. You don't have to worry."

They both knew that he would worry regardless.

"Good." Dean swallowed, and he realized that his eyes were burning. Oh, hell no. It was time to end their chick flick moment before they both started growing lady parts. He promptly shoved Sam off of the bed, and his brother thumped to the ground with a groan.

"What was that for!?" Sam snapped from the floor.

"I felt like it," he said, grinning over the side of his bed at Sam. His brother glared good-naturedly at him.

"Jerk."

Dean laughed. "Bitch."


	37. Calling All Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean introduces Cas to cheap and endless Italian food, and Cas must finally face the accusations of the Heavenly Host.

Dean was reluctant to let Sam go when he hugged him goodbye the next day.

"What's the old saying? If you love something, let it go…" Crowley said impatiently from behind Sam.

"Get bent," Dean told the demon.

"That's my line," Crowley retorted.

With his expression schooled to look something close to stoic, Dean released Sam, but only because he was afraid Crowley was going to start singing Let It Go.

He slid Ruby's knife out of his pocket and offered it to his brother, who took it with a somber expression. Dean moved to embrace Bobby, and over the other hunter's shoulder, he saw Crowley roll his eyes in an exaggerated manner and check his watch. Too bad. If he wasn't going to see Bobby and Sam in person for who knew how long, he was going to enjoy his goodbye.

"Don't make me have to drag you back from beyond the grave again," Dean said to Bobby.

"We'll be fine," Bobby responded. "Watch out for Cas and the kid. Don't get dead while we're gone."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Bobby withdrew, and then looked expectantly at Crowley. "Well?"

"I'll transport you one at a time," the demon said. "I could take us all at once, but I'd rather not tire myself out like that." Crowley gripped Sam's arm, did a little finger-wave, and then promptly disappeared with Sam and his luggage.

Several seconds passed. Crowley returned. He glanced between Dean and Castiel. "I'll see you when this is all over, I suppose."

"Remember, one of you calls every day." Dean took a step towards Crowley, almost threateningly. "You watch out for Sam, you hear me, Crowley? You're the reason he's doing this. If something happens to him-"

Crowley held up a hand. "Hard though you may find it to believe... I do actually care about whether your precious little brother lives or dies. Not that he needs my protection, but I will bring him home with all important pieces still attached."

Someday he would accept the fact that Crowley honestly gave a damn about Sam. He hoped that day would come soon. "As long as we understand each other."

"Luckily I'm brilliant at translating your beautifully expressive grunts, or we could have an issue communicating," Crowley said, words doused with sarcasm as per usual. "Call you maybe." He winked at the two of them. He set his hand on Bobby's shoulder. A second later, the space that the demon and hunter previously occupied was empty.

"Sometimes I really wish we could just kill him," Dean said.

"And other times?" Cas inquired.

"Other times he's... tolerable." Sometimes even endearing, those though moments were few and far between.

"Our lives have gotten very strange," the ex-angel observed. "More so than usual."

Dean nodded. "No kidding." The two of them fell silent. Dean turned to look at his friend. He didn't really know what to do, now. "Well… you want some lunch, Cas?"

"I am somewhat hungry," he admitted.

"What do you say we go out to eat? Shake things up. You ever had Italian before?"

"You made macaroni just the other night."

"That's… that just _so_ doesn't count, man." He patted Cas on the back. "Come on. Neither of us has been getting out enough, lately." He made his way up the stairs, Cas following doggedly behind. "There's an Olive Garden in Lebanon. You'll love it." _And maybe if I eat myself into a food coma, I'll forget that my brother's on the other side of the planet for awhile._ "Endless breadsticks," he added, glancing over his shoulder at Cas.

The ex-angel smiled weakly at him, and ever-so-briefly, he felt better.

* * *

"Dude, I'm gonna do a public service here and let you know that if you keep going like this, you're really gonna regret it later."

"Why?" Cas asked through a mouthful of gnocchi. "I feel perfectly fine, now. This is delicious."

"Yeah, well, six bowls in, I'm surprised you still feel that way."

"The waitress said the soup is endless."

"It is, Cas, but that doesn't mean you should eat it _endlessly_."

"I've also had bread sticks."

"I know. You've cleared out the last three baskets," Dean said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. "Guess being human ain't so bad sometimes, huh?"

"It does have its advantages," the ex-angel admitted. Dean smirked, and then carefully slid Cas's near empty bowl away from him. Cas seemed to consider stabbing him with his salad fork.

"I'm cutting you off. Keep going and I'll eat your tiramisu as punishment," Dean said. Cas looked tempted to argue, but eventually he set down his utensils and took a sip of his drink, relenting in his attempts to eat twice his own body weight.

"Fine. I suppose this would be a good time to bring up something I've been meaning to speak to you about," Cas said. Dean forked in another mouthful of noodles, looking at Castiel expectantly. "I still believe that we need to get in contact with the angels."

Dean swallowed. "We've already talked about this. I'm not going on the horn to try and set up a meet and greet with a bunch of dicks who want you dead."

"Do you really want to stand idly by while a war is going on?" Cas asked. "I've known you for years, Dean. That's never something you've been comfortable with before."

"We're not just sittin' around with our thumbs up our asses! You're doing the trials, Kevin's on the tablet, the others are looking for Joshua – we're handling this."

"All of our solutions are relatively long term. It would do us no harm in the meantime to connect with the angels and see if there is something we can do to assist them."

"No _harm_ – Jesus, man, where've you been? If there's one thing your family isn't, it's harmless."

"If we just explain that Metatron tricked me-"

"See, you're going ahead and assuming that they're going to give you the chance to actually talk before they run you through with an angel blade," Dean interrupted. Cas's expression turned to one of aggravation.

"They are my brothers and sisters, Dean. I led them, once, and they will give me the chance to speak my piece before acting rashly."

"You can't guarantee that."

"I'm going to simplify this discussion," Cas said, blue eyes drilling into Dean's. "I'm going to call on Anthriel. I would like to do this with you, but if you are uncomfortable with it, I will do it alone."

"The only thing that could make this plan worse is for you to do this solo," Dean said. "Cas… seriously, man, I'm begging you. Just listen to me on this one, okay? I am right sometimes, you know."

"I understand that you are concerned for me, but though I am no longer an angel, I am still capable of taking care of myself," Cas said bluntly. His features softened somewhat after a moment. "You are not everyone's guardian, Dean. The safety of those around you is not always on your shoulders."

The sentiment was nice, but the protective, big brother instinct had been drilled into him since he could walk and talk – he wasn't going to be able to suddenly pull a radical personality change. He sighed heavily, scratching the back of his neck.

"See, this is why there's no point in arguing with you. You're always so sure you're right, it's like talking to a friggin' brick wall."

"I wonder where I acquired that trait from," Cas said, and Dean realized after a second that Cas was being _sarcastic_. In spite of himself, Dean chuckled lowly. The guy was learning.

"I don't want to do this, but if you're hell bent on it, I'm not letting you do it alone," he eventually said.

"I suspected you would feel that way." Cas gave him a small smile.

"I feel so manipulated." Dean snorted. "So, how exactly do you want to do this? Can the angels still hear prayers?"

"According to the reports Crowley's received and his own scouting, it would appear that the angels are communicating without having to speak aloud, so that leads me to believe that the angel radio is still in play, though I can no longer hear it. If that's true, they will still be able to answer prayers."

"Okay… so why do you want to call down Anthriel instead of that Nisroc dude you mentioned right after the Fall?"

"Anthriel was with the garrison. Although I've never had extended contact with her, she was on my side during the civil war in Heaven," Cas explained. "Also, she is the angel of balance and harmony. I expect she will be more even-keeled than Nisroc."

"This Nisroc guy, he was Raphael's bitch?"

"There were small groups of angels that remained neutral during the war," Cas said. "Nisroc was one of them. After I disappeared and the intelligence division took control of Heaven, Nisroc joined in with Naomi and those like her. I am disinclined to trust anyone that allied themselves with her. I suspect the only reason that Anthriel is willing to work with him is because they need numbers in order to take on Abaddon."

"Great. Nothing like working with people you can't trust."

"It has been a long time since any members of the Host have been able to actually have faith in one another," Cas said soberly. "As long as we all want the same thing, however, I believe it is safe to work with her - and Nisroc, by extension."

Dean frowned. It was all about motives, wasn't it? But what happened when the war was over... what then? Would they just have another war on their hands, once the angels found something to fight with each other about? He was really starting to see the wisdom in Cas's 'lock up Heaven' plan. Angels were soldiers, and they would never settle for not having an enemy to exact some righteous wrath on.

"Okay. So when and where?" Dean finished off the last bite of his penne and looked at Cas expectantly.

"As soon as possible, though we shouldn't do it at the bunker. Not only is it heavily warded against angels, but if they were able to get in somehow, it would no longer be as advantageous a location for us to stay."

He had to agree with him, there. The greatest advantage over the bunker was that no one knew where they were unless they wanted them to. Regular old Fortress of Solitude.

"You sure this angel chick's gonna be able to just zap over when we pray to her, with all the angels being sans wings?" Dean asked.

"As Crowley mentioned before, the angels can transport themselves without their wings. Although the cost of teleportation is a direct exertion on their Grace, it's still possible," Cas explained.

Dean nodded. He still wasn't a fan of this plan, but at the very least, they were going to be able to contribute something to the war while the others were away. He still wanted to get back to normal hunts at some point, but if there was something they could do to take Abaddon down a peg, then he wanted to do it.

He still worried about the risk it posed to Cas, though.

"Alright..." Dean gave Cas a tense smile. "I'll grab Kevin a to-go box, pay, we'll go get whatever we need from the bunker, and then we'll go break out the 'forgive me, Father' routine."

* * *

They'd chosen an abandoned barn several miles from the bunker as a decent spot to set up their little angel meeting.

"Okay... so, uh, do you want to do the honors, or should I?" Dean asked, nervously tapping his fingers on the side of his angel blade. He preferred Ruby's knife, but he felt better about Sam having the anti-demon knife while he was away, so for the time being, he was switching weapons.

"Your methods of prayer are not always the most... respectful," Cas said slowly. "Not to mention, the angels are wary of both you and your brother. I think they would be more likely to come if I prayed."

"Wary of us?" Dean cocked his head in a fashion that made him realize that he'd been spending way too much time with Cas.

"Dean," Cas said, almost exasperated. "You do realize almost every angel you've ever assosciated with - positively or negatively - has died? I doubt many of my brothers and sisters are eager to cross paths with you. They would probably think of it as a death sentence."

"Point." He gestured at the ex-angel with a sour expression. "Alright then... I think you can probably skip the whole forehead/carpet deal. Just... say it's you and say you want to talk. You're not exactly low profile Upstairs."

Cas swallowed anxiously. "I feel as though this is going to go poorly," he admitted.

"Dude, when was the last time something _didn't_ go poorly for us?" Dean asked. "Plus, you were the one who wanted to get in on the angel and demon royal rumble. Are you having second thoughts?"

"I believe the saying is that I have cold feet," Cas replied. "It doesn't matter. This needs to be done." With a deep breath, Castiel closed his eyes. Dean braced himself for whatever was to come, gripping the angel blade tighter in his hand. Cas had one hidden up his sleeve, but he knew that the ex-angel would be reluctant to use it.

"Anthriel... it is Castiel. I wish to speak with you. I am in Lebanon, Kansas. I would be grateful if you allowed me to explain myself-"

Cas didn't even finish his prayer before a hot blonde woman suddenly appeared in front of him, expression stormy with rage.

"Castiel. It's been too long."

A second later, the new angel's hand was around Cas's throat. She slammed him into the wall of the derelict barn, digging her thumb into his windpipe as she lifted him several inches off of the ground. "You have the gall to banish us from our home and then call on me-"

"Anthriel, I-" Cas attempted to speak, his voice hoarse from the lack of air, but Anthriel tightened her grip, cutting off his air completely. Cas's face began to turn red.

"You don't get to speak, Castiel. Not anymore. You've lost that right. You destroyed _everything_!"

Anthriel froze when Dean came around from behind her and positioned his angel blade along her throat. "Hey, bitch," Dean growled. "How about you give him a chance to talk before you go all holy bulldozer on him?"

Cas shook his head furiously, mouthing ' _run_ '. He was no doubt worrying that Anthriel was going to turn around and smite the shit out of Dean.

"Let go of Castiel, or we _will_ have a problem," Dean hissed into the female angel's ear. _Balance and harmony my ass._ He hadn't felt that kind of anger in awhile... that was the kind of pissed that he only got when it came to Cas and his safety. The last time he'd been so tempted to gut an angel was the last time he ran into Naomi.

Reluctantly, Anthriel released Cas. The ex-angel fell to his feet, hand going to his neck as he choked and spluttered. Dean realized it was probably the first time that Cas was faced with that nasty human condition of needing oxygen to live.

"You have ten seconds," Anthriel said in a warning tone. Dean roughly grabbed the angel's arm and pushed his angel blade into her neck just enough to draw a thin line of blood. She winced.

"He has as long as he needs."

"I... was tricked," Cas managed after he regained some of his breath. He stood back up, straightening to his full height. He looked directly at Anthriel, and she had sky blue eyes, just like Cas. He was pleading with her to understand. "Metatron fooled me into thinking that he was trying to help Heaven, when in reality he was trying to throw us out of our home. My Grace was key to the spell, for some reason, so he led me on in order to secure it for his plan. I had no idea that this would happen, sister. I would never have helped with something like this."

"You expect me to believe that?" she snapped. "After all you've done, you expect me to believe that you had only good intentions?"

"Good intentions have always been my problem," Cas responded sadly. "We all know where they lead. But please, you have to believe me, now - I did not do this. This was Metatron."

"Why would the Scribe want to shut down Heaven? No one has seen him since Father left!"

"He is bitter that he was cast out. I would venture to call him evil. He murdered Naomi, and he performed the spell to shut the Gates out of spite. He hates us, Anthriel, that is why he did this! He wanted Paradise to himself while the rest of us suffered!" Cas was getting angry, he could tell. Good. It wouldn't kill the guy to get out some of that pent-up aggression.

"Says the angel that has made our race suffer more than every demon combined," Anthriel said. Dean dug the angel blade in deeper. There was a reason he said that all angels - barring Cas - were dicks.

"Please, sister, look at me. _Look at me_ ," Cas begged. "I'm _human_. Metatron took my Grace... my wings... my home... my power... I paid for this, just as we all have. I did not want this. I want to fix Heaven, I want to reopen the Gates so we can all return."

Anthriel narrowed her eyes at Castiel, and then stiffened. "You _are_ human... but there is no way to reopen Heaven. It is too late."

"It is possible. The prophet, Kevin Tran, he is in the process of translating the Angel Tablet. I have already begun the angel trials. Once completed, the Gates will open again, and we can return."

" _You?_ You have undertaken the trials?"

"Always the tone of surprise," Dean muttered sarcastically.

"Yes. I've already completed the first. There are two more, but the prophet needs time to translate them." Cas looked at Anthriel beseechingly. "Please. Anthriel. We want to help you. We want to end this war with the demons. I'm asking you to give me the benefit of the doubt. You fought in my name, once. Now I am asking to fight in yours."

He wanted to tell Cas that he was sounding a little too much on the sycophant side, but decided that he should just let him keep going.

"I'm asking for us to speak, on friendly terms," Cas said.

Anthriel glared at him. "I hardly consider this friendly, with your human pet holding a sword to my throat."

"Dean was only trying to protect me. He is a good friend." Cas met Dean's eyes over Anthriel's shoulder. "He will release you if I ask him to."

"Then do it. Prove to me that you mean what you say, Castiel," Anthriel told him harshly.

"Dean, please release her," Cas asked him politely.

"How about she hands over her angel blade, then I let her go?"

"We will allow her to keep it as a show of good faith," Cas suggested.

"I'm a little short on good faith, Cas."

Cas gave him a warning look, and Dean understood that if he got into an argument with him here in front of Anthriel, it wouldn't exactly look good. He and Cas still had their weapons, so he supposed it couldn't go that bad. After a moment of deliberation, he backed up, releasing the female angel. She massaged her neck, and the wound quickly disappeared. She regarded Dean like he was something foul she'd just peeled off of her shoe.

"Fine, Castiel. You want to speak? We will speak. I cannot guarantee we will leave here on good terms, but I will at least hear you out."

"That is all I ask."


	38. Wishing You Were Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley has deep pockets, and Cas is determined to defy expectations.

Sam took in the setting that Crowley had transported him to; he was in an upscale hotel room, he could tell that much. The sheer amount of white around him was almost blinding with the rays of sunlight streaming in through the wall length windows. He was standing in what appeared to be a spacious sitting room. Smooth white furniture surrounded him, and his leg was bumping into a glass coffee table. He craned his neck and looked up. A crystal chandelier hung over his head.

Sam swung his head around, taking in the expansive suite. The sitting room was open to a massive chrome kitchen. White tile shined in the daylight, and the black countertops were the only things that weren't on the verge of glowing. The fridge had double doors, a freezer, and one of those ice machine things. There was a double tiered oven, a large kitchen sink, and every other appliance one could ever need in a kitchen.

There was a sliding glass door. Sam saw that it led to a balcony. He could see skyscrapers out of the windows. He felt his jaw drop just as Crowley and Bobby appeared next to him.

"Crowley, where the hell are we?" Sam asked. Bobby looked equally awed.

"We're currently in the penthouse of the Lavilla Palace Hotel in Doha," Crowley said. "What is it the kids are saying these days? Go hard, or go home?"

"This is totally overboard," Sam replied. "I can't even imagine how much this place costs per night."

"More money than you've ever seen in your life," Crowley assured him. "Luckily, that's one thing I don't have any shortage of." The demon smirked at him. "I own the moon, Moose. Are you really surprised that I can afford the VIP treatment?"

"Okay, yeah, I guess it makes sense." He set his bag down on the couch. "Where are our rooms?"

"Bobby's is to the left, yours is to the right," Crowley said. "Obviously, I won't be needing one. I'll be far too busy playing Indiana Jones to lounge around in the lap of luxury."

"Where are you planning on starting?" Bobby asked, setting his bag down next to Sam's.

"The Persian Gulf Coast. There's a few areas I'd like to search around here. Doha's my personal preference when it comes to coastal cities, so it'll serve as our... home base, I suppose. Not to mention, there's significantly less chance of the two of you getting kidnapped by anti-government guerillas or getting caught in a suicide bombing while I'm gone than most of the other large cities in this part of the world. There's enough libraries here that you'll be able to keep busy. Hopefully find something that can get us over the rainbow."

Bobby narrowed his eyes at the demon. "This isn't the first time you've thought of tracking down Eden, is it?"

Crowley snorted. "Always the perceptive one, aren't you, Robert?" He sank down onto one of the sleek couches and crossed his legs. "I may have a... _scholarly_ interest in Eden."

"Uh-huh." The older hunter didn't seem convinced.

"Knowledge is power," Crowley answered, somewhat evasively. "Go. Settle in. I've already hired a car service that will take you wherever you want in the city. Call when you want them - number's on the fridge."

"Did you ward our rooms?" Sam inquired.

"Do you even need to ask?" Crowley arched an eyebrow at him. "You know me, Moose. I cover all of my bases." Crowley rose from the chair, brushing nonexistent dust off of his suit. "Well, obviously, I've got a bit of adventuring to do. Call me if you find anything, need anything, bla bla bla." He wiggled his fingers at the two of them. "Kisses." The demon disappeared.

* * *

To Anthriel's credit, the angel listened respectfully as Dean and Castiel explained the more in-depth details of what transpired with Metatron and what led to the Fall. The angel's countenance seemed to relax more as they told her about the first trial's success and their mission to reopen the Gates of Heaven. Cas still couldn't tell if she was willing to ally with them or not, however.

When they'd said all that needed to be said, the two of them waited somewhat anxiously for Anthriel's response. The angel had barely said a word since she agreed to hear them out.

"You understand that I will have to consult Nisroc on this matter," the blonde angel said. Cas's expression soured at that. He wished that he could choose some other option than throwing in with an angel that likely cleaned the torture instruments Naomi had used on him.

"Yes. I understand."

Anthriel sighed, carding a hand through her thick tresses. "Though I have the distinct feeling I will regret saying this, I believe you, Castiel… but I still think that perhaps another show of 'good faith' is in order."

"What the hell? You just said that you believe us, why do we need to convince you?" Dean asked. He noticed that the hunter still had his angel blade gripped in his hand. Dean didn't trust Anthriel, that much was clear.

Castiel was inclined to follow his friend's example.

"What is it you want from us, Anthriel?"

"We're not her bitches, Cas," Dean growled out. He shot the hunter a warning look that said _not now_. He was grateful when Dean fell silent. It meant a lot to him that Dean was willing to (albeit not necessarily happily) follow his lead on this, especially knowing how much Dean disliked surrendering control on any matter.

"It is not your word that I doubt, though I'm sure the other angels will. It is your ability to actually be useful to us in regards to the war. You're only human, now, and your allies are only human as well." He and Dean had pointedly left Crowley out of their description of the first trial. Anthriel would never listen to him if she knew that he was once again working with the King of Hell.

She also thought that Sam was still dying, thanks to the trials to shut the Gates of Hell. He thought revealing the fact that Gabriel was still alive to the remainder of the Heavenly Host would be a poor way to thank him for saving Sam. Also, then they wouldn't have to explain why Sam wasn't with them – the angels would assume that Sam was still ailing and unable to hunt with them.

"Only human?" Dean repeated incredulously. "Yeah, well, hate to break it to you sweetheart, but _humans_ stopped the apocalypse. _Humans_ shut down Dick Roman and the Leviathans. _Humans_ nearly slammed the Hell-door permanently while you and your brothers and sisters were busy tearing each other's throats out and brainwashing each other."

"You never would have been able to stop Michael and Lucifer if the Crossroads King and Castiel hadn't held your hands," Anthriel said sharply. "The same goes for the Leviathan – which you weren't even able to wipe out entirely. And as for the Gates of Hell, if you'd actually been able to shut them, we wouldn't be in the position we're in now. The world wouldn't be at war."

Cas could see that Anthriel was one of the prejudiced angels who thought of humans as little more than animals. Hopefully, they would be able to change that misconception.

Dean glowered at Anthriel, but Cas said, "Enough." before Dean could retort. A petty argument wouldn't solve anything. "We may be human, but that does not make us weak. What must we do to prove that to you?"

"There is a demon nest in Boston, Massachusetts. It is causing our forces there many issues."

"Why not just wipe it off the map? You've got a hell of a lot more fire power than we do," Dean pointed out.

"The entire facility is heavily warded. I believe Abaddon might have drawn the Enochian sigils herself, with how detailed and extensive they are. It seems that Abaddon's lieutenant runs the campaign in America from there, while Abaddon is in western Europe – or so my sources tell me. If we could do away with that compound, it would be a large step towards winning the battle on this continent."

"You want us to do the mass-murder routine on a joint full of demons solo?" Dean asked, eyebrows almost touching his hairline. "Are you out of your friggin' mind?"

"If humans can save the world, surely a few demons aren't too much for you?" The angel's sarcasm was not lost on either of them.

"Screw you," Dean replied, not missing a beat.

"We'll do it," Cas said at the same time. He met Dean's eyes, but he spoke to Anthriel. "It is nothing that we can't handle."

"Good. Do this, and we will all know that we can rely on you… and your friends. I wish you luck. Pray to me when you are done." Anthriel nodded stiffly at the two of them. A split second later, she was gone, leaving Cas in the derelict barn with a fuming Winchester.

"She's trying to kill us," Dean said, finally sheathing his angel blade. "She wants to wipe us off the board before we can cause her any trouble. She doesn't think we're useless. She knows we're dangerous, she _knows_ we're a threat. She wants those demons gone and she wants us gone. Two birds with one stone."

"You're not wrong," Cas responded. "But that doesn't change the fact that taking out this nest could turn the odds in favor of the angels. We need to do it."

"You want to play into her game."

"I want to win her game." Cas took a deep breath. "We've faced far worse than a few demons, haven't we?"

* * *

Dusty wind blew at Crowley's hair, and he squinted his eyes with irritation. Between the intense wind, insufferable heat, and eye-stinging, nose-clogging sand storms, he felt like he was vacationing in Hell. It wasn't as dreadful now that the sun was down, but it still wasn't pleasant by any stretch of the imagination.

His cell phone rang in his pocket. He was surprised he had service here. He reached for it, checking the caller ID. Squirrel. Great. Moose must've forgotten to check in with big brother.

With an exasperated sigh, Crowley picked up. "Moose is perfectly fine, got all his fingers and toes even. Happy?"

"Sam already called me, Crowley. I know he's alright," Dean responded tiredly. "Cas and I need your help with something."

"Don't you always?"

"It won't take long. You remember the demon bombs Kevin made?"

"Killed two of my best men, so yes, I remember."

"Yeah, we're gonna need some of those," Dean said bluntly. Of course. They'd been gone, what, seven hours? And already Cas and Dean had gotten themselves into some kind of trouble?

"Do I get an explanation, or are you going to make me guess?"

"Well, I finally broke and agreed to set up a meeting with the angels. She nearly killed Cas, but we managed to convince her that he didn't mean to shut down Heaven, that it was all Metatron. But here's the thing: the bitch wants a show of 'good faith'. Personally, I think she wants to get us killed, but whatever - there's a big ass demon nest in Boston we're gonna have to take down. Abaddon's right hand demon's hanging out there, and we gotta ice everyone in the place for the angels, since they can't get past the warding. So yeah, we need some extra fire power."

"You want to take on an entire demon nest on your own?" Crowley repeated. "Are you mad?"

"Probably. So how about those bombs? You remember what ingredients you need?"

Crowley sighed. "I'm not going ingredient hunting for you lot. Trying to find the Garden of Eden, remember?" He pulled his address book out of his pocket. "I can, however, give you the next best thing."

"And what's that?"

"I happen to have a stockpile of the necessary ingredients in Kansas City, in a warehouse I own. Go there, get what you need, and you'll be ready to take on a veritable army. A warning, though: Abaddon may have already gotten to it. I've no idea what's safe and what isn't anymore. Tread carefully."

"Okay, road trip it is," Dean said after Crowley gave him the address, sounding only slightly disgruntled. Progress. "Guess we better head out."

"One more thing, Squirrel."

"Yeah?"

"Check my night stand. My angel gun is inside of it, extra ammo and all," he told him. He had his angel blade, so he hadn't seen any need to take it with him on this Garden hunting adventure.

"Angel gun... you mean the thing you shot Cas with?"

He flinched at the memory. He could practically hear Cas's screams echoing in his head. And his own laugh. He wiped his hand subconsciously on his pants, almost sure that there was hot blood sticking to his skin. "Yes," he said shortly. "Kills demons just as well as an angel blade."

"Huh." He couldn't read the oldest Winchester's tone. "Well. Thanks, Crowley."

"Ah, now that's something I never tire of hearing," he cracked, regaining some of his composure. "Good luck. Try not to die."

"That's our motto." Without further chatter, Dean hung up. Crowley stared at the phone for a few moments, and he realized there was worry gnawing in his stomach. Okay, worry for Sam, with their mental connection, that made sense. Concern for Dean Winchester and his pet angel on the other hand, well, that just wasn't natural.

"Bollocks," Crowley muttered to himself before looking out at the endless stretch of sand in front of him. With a sigh, he plodded forward. The Garden wasn't going to find itself.

* * *

"I would really like to know where Crowley found a surplus of Egyptian calf skull," Cas said as the twinkling lights of Kansas City came into their line of sight.

"I'm starting to learn that when it comes to Crowley, it's best to ask as few questions as humanly possible," Dean grumbled. "Here's hoping Abaddon doesn't have a friggin' army lined up and waiting for us."

"That would be unfortunate. Though really, what would demons want with demon bombs? A weapon like that would be of no use against an angel, and with the war, you would think that their efforts would be targeted towards that."

"They're not there looking for demon bomb ingredients, Cas, they're waiting for Crowley. Abaddon wants the little bastard dead something fierce."

"He is her only competition to the throne."

"Yup. So yeah, we should probably expect a hit squad. Or at least guards."

The remaining fifteen minutes of their trip passed uneventfully, and when they arrived at Crowley's warehouse, Dean was proven right. Two men stood by the warehouse's side door. He opened his mouth to ask Cas if they were demons, but then he remembered that the ex-angel had no way to tell anymore.

"Probably demons," Dean said. Cas nodded, drawing his angel blade.

"There's only two. It's not an issue."

Two slit throats and a few unfortunate stains on Dean's favorite pair of jeans later, and the two of them had taken care of Abaddon's minimal security. "Let's get in, get what we need, and get the hell out of here. Smart money says that if they don't check in, Abba-bitch will send in the cavalry."

"Yes, let's hurry," Cas agreed.

The warehouse had been mercifully untouched by the demons that had been guarding it. Tubs were stacked high inside the relatively small warehouse, each labeled with what contents it held. There was enough of the crap here to make hundreds and hundreds of bombs.

"I don't know how much of this we're gonna be able to fit in Baby," Dean said. "Probably only five boxes, and that's if we push it."

"It will have to be enough," Cas said as he stooped to grab one of the boxes. He huffed as he lifted it. "Oh. _Oh_." He set it back down, wincing.

"Missing the superhuman strength?" Dean asked, a touch of sadness in his tone. Cas's life lately seemed to be made up of learning to deal with the limitations of humanity.

Cas sighed deeply. "More and more by the day," he admitted, massaging his arm.

"Here, I got you, man." Dean grabbed one side of the box and nodded for Cas to take the other. The former angel leaned over and did so, and together, the two of them lifted the weighty box. "See? No problem."

Cas shot him a grateful look, and the two of them began loading the Impala up with the necessary ingredients to build up their anti-demon artillery.


	39. Us Against the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas, Dean, and Kevin totally aren't running a meth lab, and Charlie boards the good ship Destiel.

The morning after their run to Kansas City, Dean knocked on Kevin's door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was pushing noon. He and Cas had slept in more than usual after their late night.

It was strange, but it was hard to imagine sleeping alone after having Cas at his side for over a month, now. The warm body, the soft sound of breathing, the occasional sleepy murmurs the ex-angel would mutter in his sleep… he would have slept well, had it not been for the fact that no matter much he was reassured, he was still worried as hell about Sam. His brother was in fucking _Qatar_. He didn't even know where that was!

"Yeah?" Kevin's muffled voice came from within his room, jarring Dean out of his Sam-and-Cas related thoughts.

Dean took it as permission to open the door. He poked his head in. Kevin's room was a mess, unsurprisingly, and the teen was at his desk, pouring over the angel tablet. Kevin was surrounded by a clutter of notebooks, pens, and loose papers. The postage board over it was almost entirely covered in sticky notes with barely discernible handwriting on them. He didn't know how Kevin was keeping track of all of this crap.

He briefly wondered if he should order Kevin to clean up his room or something, but he quickly discarded the idea; he wasn't the kid's father... even though sometimes he did get the weird Dad-vibe when it came to him.

"Hey, Kevin, you still remember how to make demon bombs?" Dean asked, deciding not to beat around the bush.

The prophet looked up from the angel tablet, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "Yeah, I do. I've still got the recipe written down somewhere in my notes."

"You want to do some heavy duty baking with me and Cas?" Dean asked. "We're gonna need a decent amount."

"Uh… can I ask why?"

"You can."

"Okay. Why do we need demon bombs?"

"Cas and I have to go burn up a nest in Boston. There's gonna be a veritable shit load of demons there, including Abaddon's right-hand bitch," Dean explained. "Come on, we already got all the ingredients. Let's get cooking."

With a brief but slightly worried nod, Kevin trailed him to the strategy room where Cas was waiting for them. Together, the three of them began concocting the necessary brew to make the bombs that would hopefully allow them to get in and out of the demon nest alive.

* * *

He and Cas left the bunker at three o'clock that day, the Impala loaded down with demon bombs and any other weapons they might need. They'd made the decision to take the twenty four hour drive straight through, then sleep when they arrived in Boston. The drive wasn't as silent as Dean expected. With a day straight to kill in the car, he ended up talking to Cas for a large majority of the time. The ex-angel still had many questions about humanity, and between that and discussion of possible locations of Eden, what further effects the trials could have on Cas, and what might become of the angels post-war, there were few moments of quiet.

It wasn't like their last ride together. Dean didn't find himself getting taxed by Cas's continued presence. This time he wasn't terrified that his brother was going to die any moment, and... well, Cas's company was just something he was starting to just get used to. Cas was always around, and even in the rare moments that he wasn't, he was still _there_ , nearby and in his thoughts. Ever-present. It was nice to have someone to rely on, to have a companion other than his brother.

It never would have been like this if Cas was still an angel. Cas would have zapped the two of them to Boston, Dean would have run through whatever demons Cas didn't smite into oblivion. Cas would repair is wounds, whisk him back to the bunker, and then disappear without a word and a flap of his wings. He knew it was selfish of him to think like that, but he couldn't help it. Cas as a human and Cas as an angel? Well, those were two completely different animals. He felt like one of them cared about him a hell of a lot more, too.

Not to mention, human Cas was a lot more emotionally expressive than his angelic counterpart. He wasn't exactly jumping for ugly cries and heart-to-hearts, but it was nice to see Cas smile from time to time, to hear him laugh, or even to see sorrow in his expressive blue eyes. It was sort of like having the benefits of Crazy Cas without the Sorry games and bee obsession.

Plus, there was something to be said for having a best friend who didn't disappear for months or weeks at a time for whatever reason. He didn't spend a large majority of his time worrying about him anymore. Okay, he still worried about Cas - more than he would ever admit to himself or the ex-angel - but it wasn't the gnawing in the pit of his stomach that he experienced before, like when he was looking for him in Purgatory, or when Cas had disappeared with the angel tablet for months in an attempt to protect it from Naomi.

Though he had to admit, it was strange not praying to Cas before bed every night. It had become such an ingrained habit that he actually had to catch himself a few times. There was no more praying to Cas; after all, he slept right next to him. There was no need for the desperate call-outs and pleading for him to come back. He scratched pleading out of his thoughts. Way too girly. Asking. He was always asking Cas to come back.

He wished he would have learned at some point over the years how to ask Cas to stay. Stay, just because... because he _wanted him to_.

Hours passed. The sun sank below the hills. They drove past the sparkling lights of several large cities. Cas would ask him about them, if they weren't one of the cities that he'd visited during his search for God. If there's one thing Dean could claim, it was that he'd been to every decent-sized city in the States at least once. He was nothing if not well-traveled.

The two of them stopped at a truck stop around five in the morning. He and Cas sat on the Impala's hood, eating cheap burritos and watching the sun crest the Arkansas hills. It was verging on _Brokeback Mountain_ territory, but it wasn't often he had peaceful moments like that. For a couple of minutes, he forgot that they were heading towards what had the potential to be their very unpleasant deaths.

Optimistic thoughts to start the day.

Roughly eleven hours later, they arrived in Boston. Dean booked the two of them into a crap motel he couldn't even remember the name of under the pseudonyms James Hetfield and Pete Townshend. Dean noticed the shifty looks he was receiving from the clerk, so he decided to just fuck it and get a room with one bed. This guy clearly thought they were banging, anyway, and Cas would be able to sleep without the aid of alcohol if they just shared a bed.

Cas didn't question it. He barely seemed to pay attention. He could tell that his friend was dead on his feet. When they pushed into their room, Cas promptly collapsed on the bed with a groan. Dean smirked at Cas's back, then dropped down on the couch, pulling his laptop out of his duffel. He had a favor he needed to call in.

Logging onto Skype, it was only a few moments before Dean's screen was filled with a familiar grinning, red-headed face.

"Hey there Charlie," Dean greeted. "You're looking good."

"Not so bad yourself," Charlie replied, seeming as excited to see him as usual. "What can your queen do for you today?"

Dean winced at the terminology. "Ugh. Remind me to explain to you why I hate the sound of the word 'queen' right now at some point in the near future. But anyway, I got an address I want you to check out. See if you can hook me up with some blueprints. Satellite footage would also be very much appreciated." Dean read off the address, and Charlie nodded dutifully.

"So, who are you going after this time?" Charlie asked, her eyes leaving his. Her fingers flew over the keys, and he knew that she was already getting down to business. He was eternally grateful for the fact that they still had Charlie around. Kevin was damn talented with a computer, sure, but he didn't have the same kind of connections - not to mention, Dean felt somewhat guilty when he asked anything of the Prophet, with all he was already doing for them. "You never told me how that whole Gabriel thing turned out, after I hacked you that police report."

"Gabriel's back and kicking. Saved Sam... so for the time being, he's in our good books."

"I figured as much," she said. "Still didn't answer my question though," she chimed in a sing-song voice.

"Demons. Fuck of a lot of them, too."

"I always love to hear that." She flicked her eyes back to him, narrowing them. "If Sam's okay, why isn't he with you?"

"Sam is..." He sighed heavily, resting his chin on his hand. "Get this: he's looking for the Garden of Eden. With Crowley and Bobby."

"Dean, isn't Bobby-"

"Dead? Yeah, we kind of fixed that."

"And isn't Crowley-"

"A demonic bag of dicks?" If Charlie only knew every detail of their lives up to Sam getting thrown into the Cage, then he assumed that would be her opinion of Crowley. Hell, that had been his opinion up until a few weeks ago.

"I always saw him as more of an anti-hero, but sure."

Dean snorted at that. "Well, he's on our side, now that we shot him up with some humanity."

"Do I even want to know how that works?"

"Probably not. Cas is with me though, so I'm not going in on my own. We'll be fine. Probably. We just need some intel before we go in and blow the place sky high," he told Charlie.

"Glad to see my OTP is still trucking," Charlie said with a lecherous wink as she continued to type inhumanly fast.

"What the hell's an OTP?" Dean asked. Was that code, or something?

"You really need to get on the internet more, Dean-o." Hadn't Gabriel said the same thing? "The last forty or so _Supernatural_ books are up online, and let's just say that you can Cas have a pretty impressive cult following."

"It would be pretty impressive if you could speak with words I understand."

"You and Cas! The fandom's screaming for you two to get together," she explained, as if it was that simple. "Well, except for the Wincest shippers, naturally."

Dean shuddered exaggeratedly. "Why does everyone assume that I have the hots for Cas?"

"Because you do?" Charlie replied, not missing a beat. "And because he's dreamy?"

"Shut up," he said, unable to think of any response that wouldn't come across as way too defensive. "Do you have the blueprints yet?"

"Emailing them to you as we speak," Charlie said, and he noticed the smirk on her lips. He glared at her. "Also, I've got satellite footage from the last week for you to comb through. It seems like the place is pretty heavily guarded around the clock. It's an old property on the outside of town. Huge mansion - 6,000 square feet. There's a gate that's manned twenty-four hours a day you're going to have to get through somehow."

"Great," Dean muttered. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

"Amen, Winchester. If you need anything else, you know the drill." She smiled warmly at him. "I really miss you, you know."

"I miss you too, kid. Remember, bunker door's always open for you."

"I know. I'll drop by sometime soon, I've just got a few things I've got to take care of first."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Chick-flicky stuff," she said with a wave of her hand. "Nothing important."

"You'll call if you get into real trouble?"

"Always." She gave him the peace sign. "Peace out, girl scout."

"Later, Charlie." He clicked out of Skype and then began to scan over the information that Charlie had sent him. He wished he could print out the blue prints, but without access to a printer, the best he could do was snap pictures with his cell phone. He jotted down a few notes about what appeared to be the most heavily guarded and then the accordingly weak, less protected points of the mansion, and slowly, he began to develop a game plan for the next day.

He worked until the sun went down and his eyes refused to stay open any longer. He had most of the details worked out for tomorrow, and he would go over the plan with Cas in the morning, so he decided that he'd earned himself a few hours of shut eye. He shut his laptop and made his way to the bed, stripping off his shoes and coat and falling into bed next to Cas. He reached over the ex-angel and turned off the light. He accidentally jarred Cas, and he let out a corresponding annoyed, sleepy growl. It was kind of adorable.

He really needed to cut out thoughts like that. No wonder people thought they were a thing. First Crowley, now Charlie. Dean laid down, and he was surprised when Cas rolled over with another murmur, laying his head against Dean's chest and grabbing him around the middle, his fingers gripping his side. Dean froze like someone had poured ice into his veins, even though he felt incredibly warm.

Fuck. What was he supposed to do? He tried to peer at Cas in the darkness, but he couldn't see worth shit. Cas had to be asleep. He would never do something like this if he was awake. Cas's hair was brushing his chin. He smelled the soap in the ex-angel's hair. Honey scented. It was kind of a joke when he picked it up for Cas, but he wasn't sure if Cas actually ever caught it.

"Cas," he muttered his name into the darkness, hoping to wake the other man up so he could make the decision to move away instead of leaving him with the bag. He received no response from Cas.

_Dean Winchester does not cuddle with dudes._

And yet, here he was. Already drifting off to sleep guided by the rhythmic rise of Cas's chest and the feel of his breath against his neck, his exhausted mind then decided _fuck it_ , and he curled his arm around the ex-angel's back.

He was asleep in less than a minute.

* * *

When Dean awoke at almost noon the next day, he heard the motel room's shower running and the sound of deep, slightly pitchy singing.

_"Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light, to chase a feather in the wind... within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight... there moves a thread that has no end..."_

Dean smiled to himself. Guess Cas really had been paying attention in the car, if he'd picked some good tunes up along the way.

_"For many hours and days that pass ever soon, the tides have caused the flame to dim. At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom... is this to end or just begin?"_

Dean forced himself out of bed with a few creaking bones and a slight groan. He made his way to the ratty kitchen that took up the other half of the room and brewed himself some coffee, listening to Cas's voice as the coffee percolated. He was just sampling the admittedly terrible brew when Cas emerged from the bathroom, clad in only a towel slung low on his hips, drops of water clinging to his hair and shoulders. The guy was practically sparkling in the sunlight that streamed through the dusty motel windows.

Dean blushed bright red, nearly spitting out his coffee. "M-morning," he managed. Cas tilted his head, brow scrunching.

"I didn't know you were awake." It sounded like an apology.

"Uh, yeah, I woke up when you were in the shower." He turned his back on Cas, pointedly looking away and fiddling with the coffee maker. "Want a cup?"

"Yes, please." He heard Cas rifling through his bag, then return to the bathroom with a quiet click of the door. He didn't know what the hell was up with his own reaction, and now he was worried that Cas was going to want to talk about the night before.

 _This is what they call gay panic, Dean,_ a patronizing voice that sounded way too much like Sammy's taunted in his head.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. This was gonna be a _thing_ , wasn't it? He forced his thoughts in a different direction for the time being. They had a hell of a lot bigger issues to deal with today. Demon nest. Abaddon's lieutenant. Proving to the angels that they were worth their salt and wouldn't be killed off that easily.

When Cas emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a clean light blue button down and khakis, he accepted the waiting mug of coffee with a murmured thanks, then plopped himself down at the table while Dean showered and dressed himself. When they were both ready, Dean plugged in his laptop, showing Cas the enlarged version of the blue prints and flicking through several screen shots he'd taken of the satelite footage Charlie had sent him, going over the plan of attack with the ex-angel. Cas agreed for the most part, but he amended a few points. Cas had always had a mind for battle and strategy. He was a soldier, after all.

Once all of the kinks were worked out, Cas looked up at him expectantly. He had been hovering over the ex-angel's shoulder.

"Well, are you ready, Dean?" he asked. "I see no point in waiting around."

Dean nodded stiffly. "Guess you're right. Let's head out."

A few moments later, they were in the Impala, speeding towards the coming battle.


	40. Devil in Her Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean and Cas take on a mansion full of demons, and Dean runs into a familiar face.

Castiel watched the gate of the eighteenth century estate through the scratched lenses of an old pair of binoculars. The gate itself was wrought iron, the walls surrounding it ten feet high and made of sandstone, covered completely in advanced Enochian sigils.

Cas had a makeshift ammunition belt around his chest, loaded with five flare-esque demon bombs. Dean wore an identical one. Cas took a deep breath after landing his eyes on the three gate guards. He dropped the binoculars, letting them bounce against his chest.

"Angel blades?" Dean asked.

"Check."

"Holy water?"

"Check."

"Spray paint?"

"Check." He glanced at his friend. "Do you have Crowley's angel gun loaded?"

Dean nodded and removed the Luger from the holster on his side, turning it so Cas could see for himself. The sight of the thing sent a spike of agony through his gut, and he remembered the overwhelming pain that he'd felt as he nearly bled out from his stomach. However, unpleasant memories or not, he was glad that Crowley had loaned Dean the gun. He expected it would prove invaluable.

"I'm good," Dean said.

"Good," he responded in a monotone. "Let's do it."

"Alright... and Cas?" Dean's eyes fixed on his, and he knew that the hunter was trying to say many things without saying much at all. "Be careful."

"You too, Dean." Another loaded sentence. "I'll meet you on the other side."

With that, the two of them split up. Dean exited the Impala and headed out to skirt along the perimeter and find a decent place to climb the wall. Meanwhile, Cas made a beeline directly for the gate. He was grateful that Dean trusted his capabilities enough to let him go off on his own for this. Cas pulled the beanie he and Dean had picked up on the way further down over his features, covering all of his hair and eyebrows. He'd also shaved off his beard before coming, better to effectively disguise himself. He wore one of Dean's jackets over his clothes.

Hopefully, he wouldn't be recognized. This is why he had to be the one to do this: Dean was far too recognizable. Even more so than himself. He was the Michael Sword, after all.

A harsh voice stopped him once he was in sight of the gate. "Who are you?" Two of the three gate guards emerged from the screened guard house, both watching him like hawks. One was bald and easily as tall as Sam. The other was short, thin, and with close cut, bleach blond hair.

"The Queen sent me," he replied gruffly. "She has a message for her lieutenant."

"I haven't seen you before," the blond demon said while the bald demon narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Cas felt a thrill of anxiety, and his fingers tapped nervously on his leg. If these were high level demons, they would be able to tell that he wasn't one of them.

However, if they hadn't already made him as a human, then that meant they were low ranking in hierarchy, and he still had a chance of persuading his way in. Or at the very least, persuading them to open the gate.

"New meat suit," he explained with an expression of distaste. "Last one got a few too many holes in it."

"Yeah, well, how about you just give us the 'message', and we'll give it to the boss."

"No," Cas said with an adamant shake of his head. "Abaddon's orders were clear. This message is for her ears only."

"And how are we supposed to believe you?" the bald demon demanded.

"I don't give a damn if you believe me. Let me in, or I'll slit the throat of the nearest meat sack I can find and give the Queen a call. She won't be pleased if she has to come here herself just to deal with you imbeciles," he growled out, curling his lip.

He didn't know whether he was emulating Meg or Crowley at the moment, but he was trying to be as demonic as possible. He'd always been told that his acting needed work, and he hoped now that he was doing a sufficient job of it.

The blond demon glanced at his counterpart, than rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. But if you try anything, we'll eat you alive. Got that?"

"Yes. Now let me pass." He straightened his shoulders and pinned the two demons with a glare.

"Open the gate," the bald demon ordered the third demon, which was still out of sight. A moment later, the enormous wrought iron gate opened, clearing the way for him.

"Thank you," Cas said as he strolled forward. When he was close enough to the demons, he let the hidden angel blades he kept in both sleeves - his and Dean's - fall into his hands. Without hesitation, he drove them into the chests of both of the demons. Orange light sparked, and gasps of pain echoed in his ears. He jerked the weapons through flesh and bone, and both demons fell to the ground.

Before the third one even had a chance to act, Dean was out of the shadows and upon him, slapping a hand over his mouth to prevent him from screaming and alerting the rest of the guards on the grounds. Cas swung around, slashing across the demon's throat. Blood splattered on his shoes as the dead demon collapsed to the ground.

Dean beamed at him. "Awesome job, Cas."

"Thank you." He tossed Dean his angel blade, and the hunter snatched it deftly out of the air. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Fifteen minutes," Dean agreed before disappearing back into the hedges. Dean was to cover the west end of the property. The east was Cas's responsibility. They wanted to clear the outside of demons without alerting the forces inside if at all possible. They wanted to save the demon bombs for once they were inside and had to confront Abaddon's lieutenant and the bulk of her forces.

Stealth. Stealth was something he could do. He hit the button to close the gate once again, then hid the bodies of the guards in the bushes. He wished for the days where he could've snapped them out of existence. If only he still had the luxury his Grace provided. Then again, if he had his Grace, they likely wouldn't have bothered with stealth. He could've revealed his true form and burned the smoke out of every demon in sight.

Cas made his way along the wall. There were eight sentries, not including the gates guards, around the mansion at all times. Dean would handle four, and he would handle four. He had memorized their routes around the property, and he knew one would be coming out of the courtyard right about-

_Now._

Cas jettisoned himself into the oncoming demon, tackling him roughly into a bed of irises. He wondered briefly if the flowers were the demon's choice or the previous owner's. They were trampled down as Cas wrestled in the greenery with the demon. In a few moments, he had his angel blade jammed into the demon's heart. Electricity sparked along the length of the blade as he drove it in deep. Apparently the angel blade was capable of channeling the energy that flowed through him thanks to the trials. Interesting.

He left the body behind as he moved onto the next guard, who would be at the side door that led into the slave's quarters.

Cas crept around the side of the building, his back to the cool brick wall. He picked up a pebble and tossed it about fifteen feet away from him. Predictably, the demonic guard moved away from his post to investigate. With silent feet, Cas came up behind the demon and sliced the blade across his jugular.

After concealing that body as well, Cas spray-painted a hasty red devil's trap in front of the screen door. He and Dean were doing so to every entrance to ensure that no demons would be able to physically escape the house.

The last two were stationed alongside the back patio doors. There was no way to approach the area unseen, so he decided the best he could do would be to catch them off guard. Cas raced into the patio, jumping over the rock barrier before throwing his angel blade at one of the guards. It gored him through the chest, and he fell to the ground with a stifled shout. Hopefully not enough to draw attention.

Cas took his flask of holy water out of his pocket and splashed the remaining demon in the eyes. He clutched his face, hissing. While he was distracted, Cas planted his foot on the chest of the dead demon and ripped out the buried angel blade. He swung his arm in a swift arc, and a second later, the last demon's head hit the ground.

He leaned against the wall, catching his breath. Now to wait for Dean to meet him here. He hoped that the hunter hadn't run into any issues. He didn't hear any kind of screaming or alarms, so he could only assume that he was, for the time being, alright.

"So far, so good." Cas jumped when he heard Dean's voice from next to him. He hadn't even heard him approach. Dean's jacket was splattered with blood, but other than that, his friend seemed to be perfectly fine. "Any problems?" he asked.

"No. Well, this one screamed." He nudged one of the demon's bodies with his foot. "But I don't believe any of the guards inside heard it."

Dean nodded. "Alright. Let's get these mooks out of the way."

While Cas drew the devil's trap in front of the door, Dean took care of the fallen bodies. Soon they were standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the patio doors. Dean checked Crowley's angel gun, then looked at him. "Let's kill these bitches."

"Yes, let's." Together, the two hunters drew their weapons and headed into the demon nest.

* * *

"Now?"

"Now."

Dean pulled his Bic out of his pocket and lit the first of his demon bombs. Cas mirrored his actions. Once both of their wicks were sparking, they tossed their bombs into the foyer of the mansion, where the largest amount of demons were. They both ducked behind the staircase. There were a few shouts, but they were quickly quelled when the bombs went off and incinerated every demon in the room.

They'd already cleared out all of the demons in the kitchen and most of the lower halls. This was the first time they'd actually needed to use the bombs. Dean had a large gash on his shoulder and he was grazed on the side, but other than that and a nasty cut on Cas's hand, the two of them were mostly intact. He and Cas made a hell of a team. Angel or not, Cas was still a straight badass.

Demons began to filter into the foyer once they heard the explosions. The stealthy part of their plan was officially over, which suited him just fine; he preferred going in guns blazing, always had.

Cas met his eyes, and to his surprise, the ex-angel gave him a small, exhilarated smile. "After you," he said.

"You callin' me a lady, Cas?" Dean responded, but he returned his friend's grin before dashing into the expansive foyer, Cas hot on his heels. There were six demons in there, all staring at them like they had two heads.

"Is that Dean Winchester and his angel?" one of them asked incredulously.

"Damn right it is." Dean lifted Crowley's angel gun and blew a hole in the demon's skull. Flashing light, and he was on the ground amidst a steadily growing pool of blood.

It didn't take the others long to react. One of the demons - presumably the head guard - flicked his wrist and sent Dean crashing into the wall. Dazed, Dean scrambled to stand. Two more demons were racing towards him. He saw Cas tackle the lead demon to the ground, and the ex-angel beat the demon several times in the face with the hilt of his angel blade before jabbing it down into his throat.

Dean shot one of the demons coming for him in the knee, then hit the other one right in the chest, instantly killing him. He then pegged the other one in the skull, sending him down as well. By the time he was standing fully on his feet again, Cas had run the last two through and dropped their still bodies on the ground. He was breathing hard.

"You alright?"

"Yes, are you?"

"Fine." He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. "Come on."

The two of them went up the stairs, taking it two steps at a time. "Top floor?" Cas inquired.

"Yeah." They'd looked at the blue prints earlier, and the largest room - the master bedroom - was on the top floor of the house. They were going to look for the lieutenant there, if the demon didn't come out to meet them after all the commotion they'd caused.

They were halted when they reached the landing on the third floor by a flood of demons. Two more demon bombs were used, and he and Cas still had to weed out four more after the bombs scourged a large majority of them. Abaddon had a veritable army in the friggin' place.

Still no sign of the top demon on the totem pole. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but shouldn't she have made an appearance by now, since all of her guards were getting either stabbed, shot, or turned into ash?

Dean had to switch over to his angel blade when they reached the top floor. He only had three bullets left for the angel gun, and he wanted to conserve them for the big bad.

He and Cas battled their way through the top floor. Reinforcements from the second floor rushed up the stairs to meet them as they cut down the last defenses of the compound. He wanted as many of them dead as humanly possible as fast as humanly possible, because if one of them had the good sense to call up Abaddon, they were doomed. She could snap her fingers and explode both of their hearts.

Dean's shirt was soon turned to tatters, and the amount of blood and sweat on his clothing made it seem entirely too heavy. He and Cas had used all of their demon bombs, and both of their holy water flasks were empty. They were back against a wall with nothing but their angel blades left. Thankfully, there were only three demons left for them to deal with. If they could get through those idiots, they could get to the master bedroom - which was in sight from where they were.

Dean grabbed one of the demons by the hair and used it as leverage to drive him down onto his blade. Cas kicked one of them hard in the stomach, then stabbed him in the back with his blade. Dean threw the limp body of the demon he'd just killed into the last living one, sending them crashing to the ground. He then impaled him through the eye with the now gore-covered angel blade.

With a jerk of his arm, he removed the silver sword. He leaned his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Cas backed up against the wall, blood dripping down a bad wound on his cheek. His lip was split open. He'd lost the beanie he'd worn into the compound ages ago. His hair was a mess, sticking up in some places, matted with blood in others. They were both starting to come down from their adrenaline highs, and Dean could feel exhaustion tugging at his limbs. He could tell Cas was feeling the same.

He didn't know how many injuries he had. His head was hurting like a bitch and his left arm didn't seem to be working particularly right. His head swam when he moved. Blood loss. Awesome.

"We better get this done soon, man, or we're gonna pass out before we reach the finish line," he said haggardly.

Cas nodded blearily. "Let's finish this."

Side by side, they headed determinedly toward the master bedroom.

Dean kicked open the wooden door, and it splintered apart under the heel of his boot. Angel gun held out rigidly in front of him, he entered the master bedroom. Sunlight illuminated the finely furnished room, the entire north wall of which was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Cas followed in at his heels, wiping blood off of his face. Cas tightened his grip on his angel blade as he came to stand beside Dean. The two of them glared at the silhouette of a slim figure that stood behind an expansive desk in front of the windows. She turned, and Dean could make out her profile. She was hot, definitely. Tall, with an athletic build and long brunette hair. So, was that Abaddon's right-hand bitch?

"It's about time, Dean," she greeted.

Her accent was English, and there was something chillingly familiar about the way she said it. She turned to face them fully. She wasn't someone he'd ever seen before, but... there was definitely something about her that rang more than a few bells in his head. The way her lips curved, the narrowing of her blue-green eyes...

"It's been too long," she continued, seeming nonplussed by their weapons or the fact that the hallway behind them was filled with bodies.

Dean pointed Crowley's angel gun directly between the female demon's eyes. "Who are you?" he demanded. With Meg, Ruby, and Lilith all six feet under, who could it be? He didn't know any other chick demons. And the way she said his name... she knew him. More than just hearsay.

The demon sauntered around the desk, coming to stand directly in front of it and just barely three feet away from Dean. He kept the angel gun trained on her the whole time. She didn't appear to have a weapon on her. In that form-fitting white dress, he was pretty sure there wasn't any place she could hold one.

Cas was staring at him like he was insane. He could practically hear the ex-angel saying, _"What are you waiting for? Kill her!"_

"I'm hurt. Don't you recognize me? I know the suit's a bit different, but I'm just the same on the _inside._ " She laughed. "Minus a soul and plus a bit of smoke, mind you." She tilted her head. "I'll give you a hint: the last time we spoke, it was just about... _midnight_."

Realization dawned on him, along with a good dose of horror. "No... it can't be..."

"Oh, but it is," she drawled.

"Who is she?" Cas demanded.

"When I knew her..." Dean lifted his eyes to meet the demon's. "Her name was Bela. Bela Talbot."

"Right on the money as always, sweetheart." She spread out her arms, grinning at him. "And now I'm back, new and ever-so improved."

"You only died, what, seven years ago? How are you already out of Hell and this high up with the demons?" he asked. Jesus, he hadn't even liked Bela all that much - she was kind of a conniving bitch - but seeing her turned into a fucking demon? He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. Mainly because most of his worst enemies were already demons, but still.

"Abaddon believes that I have potential. She wanted a lieutenant, a loyal soldier... someone who knew you, your brother, and Crowley _personally_. Dig the knife in then twist, yeah? So, she rescued me from Hell, did some of her own work on me to make sure I was ready to go topside... and now here I am. And I serve her."

"She wants to wreck the Earth, don't you get that? How can you be okay with what she's doing?" Dean burst out. Bela was all about material wealth, rolling naked in money on silk sheets, being her own person. How could she be okay with being Abaddon's slave and burning the world down to cinders?

"Am I supposed to care?" Bela countered. She pressed forward, closing the distance between the two of them. He could smell sulfur mixed in with that expensive French shit she always used to wear, and it made him physically ill. "We're going to rain Hell down on Earth. We're going to _win_ , Dean. If you're smart - which I know you're not - you'll stay out of it and let things take their course."

"Fat fucking chance," Dean said, glaring daggers at the new demon. "It's kind of sad, but I really don't want to do this."

"Do what, Dean? Shoot me with Crowley's little angel gun?" She snorted. "Always the hero complex. You can't rescue me from this, it's far too late for that... just like it was too late for you to rescue me from my deal."

"You forgot something," Dean growled out, and Bela raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Regale me."

"I'm not a hero, remember?" He traced the trigger almost gently. "I'm a serial killer," he hissed, echoing Bela's words from all those years ago. Looking her dead in her stolen eyes, he pressed the gun into her stomach and fired.

Bela gasped as the bullet went into her, and her eyes flashed black as she fell to her knees. Dean let her. She coughed, and blood stained the fine Persian rug on the ground. She clutched her gushing gut, glaring up at him with still-onyx eyes.

"You shouldn't have done that, Dean," she said hoarsely. He could already see the faint pulse of orange light underneath her skin. "I know your greatest weakness."

He aimed the gun at her head this time. "And what's that, bitch?"

Her eyes flicked to Cas. "Him." Before Dean had a chance to register what she was doing, Bela flicked her wrist, and Cas was suddenly lifted into the air and thrown over the desk... and through one of the wall length windows.

Dean and Cas both screamed as the ex-angel fell four stories to the ground below.


	41. Flight on Broken Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas is hurt, and Crowley tries his hand at self-sacrifice.

Sam propped open the door to their hotel room with his foot as Bobby came through with an armful of books, stacked so high that they covered the other hunter's face.

"Any luck?" Sam asked.

"Heritage Library's the place to go," he said. "Oldest stuff. What about you?"

Sam gestured to his own pile sitting at the kitchen table next to the lunch he'd ordered from room service. "National Library. They've got more lore than any library I've ever seen - not to mention the place looks like it's from some weird dystopian novel," he added. "This entire city, it's like it's from the future."

"No kidding," Bobby said, depositing his load on the coffee table. "It's actually kind of pretty."

"It is," Sam agreed. Doha was an absolutely beautiful city. Or at least, what he'd seen of it over the past two days was beautiful. When he was at street level, buildings towered so high that even if he craned his head, he couldn't see the tops of them. Everything was so clean, sparkling and immaculate. The city was enormous and traffic was horrendous, but the views of the Persian Gulf and the pristine glass skyscrapers made up for the wait whenever he wanted to go anywhere.

He never thought he would get a chance to go to a place like this. Albeit he hadn't imagined he would ever need to search for the Garden of Eden, but nonetheless, he was glad for the opportunity, and he was happy that Crowley chose this city to be their base of operations while they hunted for the Garden. Bobby seated himself on one of the couches, and Sam sat down opposite him.

"You hear anything from Crowley?" Bobby asked. They hadn't seen hide nor hair of Crowley in days, and he hadn't called either. Although he knew that Crowley was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, he couldn't help but feel slightly worried. He'd texted the demon, but he'd received no response, and wherever Crowley was, he was too far away for him to feel his emotions or communicate with him.

Although he would never admit it to anyone - especially Crowley, since the demon would make fun of him for it for the rest of his life, most likely - he actually sort of missed being able to feel his link with Crowley. Although the demon king kept his emotions and thoughts guarded for the most part, the feeling was still there. The tendril that tied them together was still in the back of his mind, giving him the general gist of what was going on with Crowley.

"No. Nothing. If he doesn't call me back by tonight, I'm going to summon him," Sam replied.

"And if he doesn't show?"

Sam didn't want to think about that. "Then I'll find him," he said simply. "Somehow."

"Oh, Moose. I didn't know you cared." Sam jumped and let out yelp as he suddenly had a lapful of Crowley. The demon smirked at him, but he immediately felt Crowley's exhaustion over their bond, and his eyes were tired and his face drawn. "Sorry, didn't expect you to be on the couch at this time of day. Shouldn't you be working?"

"We are working," Bobby grouched. "We had to take a break to wonder where the hell _you've_ been."

"I'm right here, obviously." Crowley stretched languidly. Sam rolled his eyes, gathering up the demon without asking and moving him so that he was on the couch next to him. His head was still resting on his thigh, however, and he felt Crowley's warmth through the fabric of his jeans. "Miss me that much, Robert?"

"Been countin' the minutes," Bobby responded dryly. "You have any luck?"

"Not in the least." Crowley's eyes were closed. "I've been searching far and wide, but not a pip of Eden."

"Then why are you here?" Bobby asked.

"Weren't you just complaining about me _not_ being here?" Crowley countered, cracking open one eye to look at Bobby. The demon laced his fingers behind his head. "My energy isn't infinite. Teleporting sucks a lot out of me. I've got to take a break from time to time."

 _"Any particular reason you didn't text me back?"_ Sam asked mentally. Out loud, he said, "I think we should do daily check-ins, like we're doing with Dean."

 _"Didn't exactly have service the whole time,"_ Crowley replied across their link. He responded verbally as well. "You miss the sound of my voice that much, Moose? You really do have a hard-on for me."

"Shut up, Crowley," Sam said, glaring down at him, but without much anger. This was Crowley. He was starting to become numb to the sarcasm and innuendos. Crowley went for a sure-to-be-snappy remark, but before he could get it out, his phone rang in his pocket.

"MC Hammer, Crowley, seriously?"

"I like big butts, I cannot lie," the demon said in a serious tone, scrambling in his pockets for his phone. He pulled it out, checked the caller ID. "Squirrel. Great. Did you forget to call him?"

"No!"

"Mhmm." Crowley picked up, putting the phone to his ear. "Crowley's House of Whining, state your complaint." There was a pause, and Crowley's expression immediately sobered when Dean spoke. He sat up straight, both eyes open, and he felt a pang of anxiety from the demon.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Three words echoed over their bond: _"Cas is hurt."_

* * *

"CAS!" Dean shouted the ex-angel's name as he heard a crash outside. Oh God, they were four stories up - that was forty feet down to the ground below. _No, no, no, no, no!_ He stared at Bela, who was busy bleeding out at his feet. She grinned up at him, teeth stained red.

"I've heard all about you and your angel, Dean... your Achilles heel is always the people you love... that's why I'm stronger than you, now. I don't have that handicap anymore," she told him, and he was disgusted with how damnation had brainwashed her. Who she was now made who she was as a human look a fuck of a lot better. He felt his lip curl into a snarl.

"Guess they didn't tell you one thing," he whispered, an undercurrent of rage and danger in his tone, angel gun still pointed at her skull. "No one who hurts my family gets to live."

He fired the gun. The bullet sank into the head of Bela's meat suit, and she gasped. Her skin glowed orange-yellow, there was a flash of light... then, for the second time, Bela Talbot was dead.

Now for Cas. He couldn't bare to look out the window, terrified of what he might see, so he raced down the stairs, taking the steps four and five at a time. In barely a minute's time, he was back on the grounds, sprinting towards Cas and praying - fucking _praying_ \- that he was alright, that he was okay, that he wasn't- _oh God please don't let him be dead please please please._

He saw Cas's slumped form on the ground. He heard whimpering, and saw that his chest was still rising and falling. His brain halted to a stop, but his legs kept moving. Cas hurt: bad. Cas still alive: good.

"Castiel!" he called his friend's name as he skidded to his knees next to him. He was curled in a ball, eyes pinched shut. The ex-angel groaned in agony. "Jesus, shit, where does it hurt, Cas? Talk to me."

"Everywhere..." Dean tried to move him, but the corresponding gasp of pain and tears that leaked out of Cas's eyes told him that was not the best idea. "Broken. Leg definitely... ribs... back, maybe... arm..."

Back. Cas's _back_ could be broken. Arms and legs and ribs, okay, but his back? He knew people who broke their backs and were never able to walk again.

"I'm calling Anthriel," he said, and he could hear how bad his voice was shaking. He gripped Cas's good arm as tightly as he could, trying to ground himself. "She can fix you."

"N-no," Cas said sharply. He was so pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his skin. He trembled violently under Dean's touch. "D-don't. Crowley. Call Crowley."

"What? Why the hell-"

 _"Call Crowley_ ," Cas rasped out the demand. His eyes stared up at the sky incoherently, black pupils almost completely blocking out the blue of his irises. He didn't know why Cas was so desperate for him to call Crowley instead of Anthriel, but there was little point in questioning it.

Cas's eyelids started to flutter. Panicked, Dean cradled Cas's face in his hand while he scrambled in his pocket for his phone with the other. It was hard to find purchase on the smooth surface with his blood-soaked fingers.

He managed to punch in the triple sixes. He patted Cas's cheek, turning his friend's head so his bleary blue eyes would be forced to meet his.

"Cas, man, you gotta stay with me," he said, his voice breaking on 'stay'.

"Dean…" Cas muttered his name, barely audible. "Hurts…"

"I know, I know, but it's okay. We're gonna get you all fixed up. You'll be fine, I promise." He would do everything he could to keep that promise.

Cas seemed to be somewhat settled by the sentiment. He coughed, and a stream of blood trickled down his chin. Finally, on the other side of the world, Crowley picked up his phone.

"Crowley's House of Whining, state your complaint," the demon's disgruntled voice sounded in his ear.

"Crowley," Dean croaked out with effort. "Cas is hurt." He hoped that further explanation wasn't necessary. There were muffled words in the background on Crowley's end – it sounded like Sam.

And then there was silence. "Crowley?" he said the demon's name again, and – fuck, when did he start crying?

"Move aside." A shadow passed over him. He looked up to see Crowley standing next to him. His eyes were inscrutable, his mouth pursed in a thin line. There was no snark in his expression, no smirk poised on his lips. Not this time. Reluctantly, he released Cas and backed away. Cas whimpered at the loss of contact… or the pain. Or both. He didn't know.

Sitting there in the grass with blood-soaked hands, he watched as the demon king knelt beside Cas. He put one hand on the ex-angel's forehead, and the other on his chest, right where his heart was. Crowley took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Cas let out a little gasp, and his gaze went out of focus. Crowley's brow was furrowed in concentration. The part of him that still didn't trust Crowley as far as he could throw him screamed against the idea of letting the demon lay hands on Cas like this… but Cas asked for Crowley, and he trusted Cas.

As Crowley worked, doing whatever it was he was doing, sparks crackled between Cas's fingertips, the mark of the angel trials making itself known. It seemed to be reacting with Crowley's demon magic in some odd way. Cas's eyes flashed brilliant blue, then closed.

"Come on, Kitten," Crowley murmured, an undercurrent of barely discernible anxiety in his tone. Dean was confused until he remembered the fact that Crowley had worked with Cas for almost two straight years.

_Is that why you wanted him instead of Anthriel, Cas? Because you know that somewhere in that black hole in his chest, he still cares about you?_

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at Cas's now peaceful face as Crowley attempted to heal him. He hated waiting, he hated being unable to do anything to help Castiel, short of watching Crowley's back and hoping the demon could save him.

He couldn't lose Cas. Not again.

After an indeterminable amount of time, he noticed that Crowley had broken out into a sweat, and his skin had paled significantly. His shoulders trembled, and his breathing was ragged. Just as Dean was about to ask what was going on, Crowley's eyes split open, and he promptly collapsed backwards. Dean was barely able to hook his hands under the demon's arms before he collided with the ground.

"What the hell, Crowley?" _Is he going to be alright? Did you fix him?_

"I couldn't fix all of the damage," Crowley managed weakly, seeming to be in a battle to stay conscious. Dean's heart tightened into a knot in his chest. "Most, but not all… point is… he'll live."

Dean breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and he felt tears building in his eyes again. No, damn it. Now was not the time. He swallowed with effort, trying to find his voice. "He'll be alright?"

"After awhile, yeah… he'll need time to heal, though." Dean carefully laid Crowley down on his back.

"Are you okay?" Dean was surprised by the question that came out of his mouth, and Crowley seemed just as caught off-guard.

"N-never thought I'd hear that from you… maybe overexerted myself a bit. I'll recover… just need a – a breather."

Dean nodded dimly, feeling his pulse slow down as the terror of losing Cas dissipated. "So, what's still busted?"

"Put most of my energy into his back and ribs… arm was snapped in three places, I did what I could… tried to mend his leg, but if I'd gone through with it, I likely would've killed myself." The demon huffed out a broken laugh. "I've changed, but not that much."

"How bad is the leg?"

"Tibia's snapped," Crowley replied. He groaned as he sat up, putting a hand on the side of his head. "Bloody hell." The demon snapped the fingers of his left hand, and Cas disappeared. Before he could open his mouth to ask what he did with Cas, Crowley cut him off. "Impala. Back seat." The demon was turning a rather unhealthy shade of green.

"Damn. You really are running low on juice, aren't you?"

"Demons aren't naturally intended to have half of the powers I have. I've finagled my way into most of them, trained myself in the others... but before I took the throne, they were always taxing. Now that I've got no souls to back up what I've got, it drains faster than ever. Doesn't help that I've spent the entirety of the past two days zapping back and forth over the entire Arabian peninsula and was already exhausted," he explained.

Dean didn't really know how to respond to that. "Can you even get back to Sam and Bobby?"

Crowley pushed himself to his feet with some difficulty. The demon swayed once he was standing, so Dean steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. "I certainly hope so. Hold onto your handbrake," he grumbled. He took a deep breath, and a second later, Crowley was gone.

For a moment, Dean just stood there alone in front of the mansion that was now a mass grave. Once his brain caught up with what was happening, he took off in a full run towards the Impala. His head swam from blood loss and he was exhausted from the brutal battle, but he pressed on. Cas didn't want Anthriel. Fine, whatever. But he was getting him to a doctor for his leg. He'd snapped his leg before, and it wasn't a fun experience.

He arrived back at the Impala in due time. He opened the backseat door, and Cas was inside, his leg propped up on a pillow (thanks, Crowley) and his eyes closed. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

"Okay," he breathed. Cas was alright, for now. That leg was going to need attention, though, and he couldn't take Cas to the hospital. The best he could do was bring him to Doctor Robert and hope for the best. He needed to do it soon. When Cas woke up, he was going to be in a hell of a lot of pain, and if they didn't deal with the leg soon, who knew what kind of damage it could do.

Dean closed the door and went around to climb into the driver's seat. He started the car, glancing at Cas's still form in the rearview mirror. "Don't worry, Cas. I'm gonna get you some place safe." He knew he was speaking for his own comfort, not so much Cas's, but he felt it needed to be said.

With a deep breath, he pulled out of the drive of the estate, leaving the bodies of dozens of demons behind as he broke the speed limit for the ex-angel in the back seat.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after Crowley's abrupt and worrisome departure, the demon returned. He reappeared directly in front of Sam. The king stared at him for a moment, but just as he was about to ask what the hell was going on back in America, Crowley's eyes rolled back into his head and he promptly collapsed forward.

Sam caught him in his arms. "Crowley?"

"Is he even conscious?" Bobby asked, stepping forward.

He nudged at the demon's mind with his own, but felt nothing but overwhelming exhaustion. _"Crowley?"_ he called over their link. No response.

"No, he's out," Sam said. He scooped Crowley up so he was cradling him in his arms. "Come on, let's get him in bed." He found himself wishing that Crowley was awake to make the obvious joke.

With Bobby trailing behind him, Sam carried the demon to his own room. He laid Crowley down on the expansive white bed. Sam slipped off Crowley's shoes and socks, then took off his black suit jacket and tie as well. He folded the clothing and set it on top of his dresser, placing Crowley's Italian loafers on top of the pile.

With Bobby's assistance, they got Crowley under the silk sheets and down covers and into a somewhat comfortable position. It was odd to see Crowley sleeping. He actually looked peaceful, for once.

"Tucking in the King of Hell," Bobby mused as they stood over Crowley's dozing form. "Not the strangest thing I've done, but it's up there." The older hunter snorted. "Should we sing him a lullaby, too?"

"I think he's okay," Sam replied. "I'm calling Dean. Whatever happened at the demon nest, it can't have been good. Not if Cas got hurt." He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he and Bobby walked back into the sitting room. He dialed Dean's number and waited impatiently for his brother to answer his phone.

"Hello?" Dean's voice came over the other end. Sam hit the speaker button and set his cell phone down on the coffee table.

"What the hell, Dean?" he asked without preamble.

On the other end, his brother sighed heavily. "We ran into a few issues in Boston."

"Now's not the time to get vague, boy," Bobby said gruffly. "Details."

"Fine, fine - okay, so we get through something like thirty or forty demons. We're alright, bleeding, but alright. We finally make it to Abaddon's right hand bitch, and guess who it is." He didn't allow time for a response. "Bela _fucking_ Talbot."

"Are you serious?" Sam exclaimed. "She hasn't even been in Hell long enough to become a demon, has she?"

"Apparently Abaddon took some kind of sick special interest in her. Fried her extra crispy so she'd be able to crawl out of the Pit early."

Shit. Sam ran a hand through his hair as he took in the fact that Bela was now a demon. The three of them had never exactly been besties, but she'd helped them out of a few jams. Plus, although the mercenary only had eyes for his brother, he had harbored a small crush on her. She was a brunette with a sexy British accent, how couldn't he?

"Well, did you kill her?" Bobby pressed. Sam was pretty sure that any lingering sentimentality Dean had for Bela wouldn't earn her any mercy from him.

"'Course I did. Shot the shit out of her." Dean paused on the other end. "But not before she got to Cas."

"What happened? Is he okay?" Sam asked, a pit of worry forming in his stomach.

"Bitch chucked him out of a four story window," Dean explained. "He... he broke a lot of things. I - I actually thought he was gonna die, to be honest. Never thought I'd hear myself say this, but thank God for Crowley."

"Did Crowley heal him?" Bobby's brow furrowed in surprise. Sam had already witnessed Crowley healing Garth, so he wasn't as shocked by the revelation. It also explained why Crowley passed out; healing took a lot out of the demon.

"Yeah, he did. Managed to fix him up pretty well, too. Cas's leg is still busted, but other than that, he should be okay," Dean said. "Did the little bastard get back to you guys alright?"

"Fainted the second he got here, but other than that, it looks like all his pieces are still glued together," Bobby replied. "You do know you can't take Cas to the hospital, right?"

"I know, I know. Jimmy's still listed as a missing person and he's wanted for all of the shit Cas did when he tried to be God. I'm taking him to Doctor Robert."

"Dean, if you bring him to Doctor Robert-"

"Yeah, he could end up with his ass stitched to his eye, but it's better than me trying to do the first aid routine on him myself."

Sam sighed. "I guess you're right, but... why not just pray to Anthriel and ask her to heal Cas? He got hurt doing this for her, it's only fair."

"Honestly? No clue. When Cas was still awake, he freaked when I mentioned her. Doesn't trust her to heal him, I guess."

"I don't blame him," Bobby grumbled, no doubt remembering when Zachariah had made sure his leg injury would stop him from ever walking again.

"Neither do I," Dean agreed. "I'm gonna go, guys. I think Cas is waking up. I'll call you when we're in for the night."

"Alright," Sam said. "Dean, be careful. Seriously. I'm gone for two days, and one of you already had a near death experience. That's not exactly reassuring."

"Guess you're my good luck charm, Sammy," Dean said sarcastically. "We'll try to stay safe. Same goes for you three." He heard the phone click, and he knew his brother had hung up.


	42. Between Angels and Insects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas receives questionable medical care, and Anthriel knows too much.

The first feeling Castiel registered as he woke up was an intense, splitting pain in his leg. He groaned loudly, and the agony in his left leg blocked out almost all rational thought. The only other thing he was aware of was Dean's voice, but it sounded so far away...

"...We'll try to stay safe. Same goes for you three," he heard the hunter say. He cracked open his eyes, and in his bleary vision, he saw Dean pocket his phone.

"Dean?" he called his friend's name hoarsely. Dean's concerned green eyes met his through the rearview mirror.

"Hey Cas," Dean greeted, his tone much more gentle than usual. "How you feeling, man?"

"My leg is in excruciating pain," he said through gritted teeth. "But I am much better than I was when I lost consciousness."

"Crowley managed to clean you up, at least for the most part. I gotta ask... why did you want me to call Crowley so bad, instead of Anthriel? She could've healed you completely."

"Anthriel cannot know that I was injured during the raid," Cas said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "She will only take it as proof that we are weak, and need our hands held - exactly what she already believes. And we can't call on her for help now, as Crowley's magic will be visible in my aura for several days, so she will be able to detect demonic taint on me. We can't allow her to know that we're working with Crowley." Cas tilted his head back, biting his bottom lip. Tears were building in his eyes. It felt as though someone was cutting into his leg repeatedly with a hot knife.

Dean passed him back a flask. Cas accepted it with a trembling hand. "Drink it. All of it," the hunter ordered. "We're a few hours out from help, at the moment."

"Why can't we just go to one of the hospitals in Boston?" Cas asked tersely as he drank deeply from the flask. He winced as the hard liquor burned down his throat.

"Because the only way to make this day worse would be you getting arrested. Jimmy's a missing person, remember? And you're wanted for all of the crap you pulled back in 2012," he told him. "So we're going to a friend of mine in Philly. He'll deal with your leg, no questions asked."

* * *

Dean was afraid that Doctor Robert was going to have to fix some broken bones for him as well. Electing to hold Cas's hand while the back alley doc readjusted his broken tibia was probably not one of the best decisions he'd ever made. Cas threw his head back and screamed, squeezing Dean's hand like a vice. He may not have angel strength anymore, but the guy still had a hell of a grip.

"There we go!" Doctor Robert said after Cas's tibia was properly repositioned. Cas had been given rather impressive amounts of alcohol both on the ride to Philly and once they arrived at Doctor Robert's, but he was sure that the ex-angel was still in a ridiculous amount of pain, numbing agent or not. "Now for the cast."

With the help of Doctor Robert's hot assistant, who was eyeing him suspiciously (no doubt remembering the last time he was there and asked them to kill him) they applied the plaster cast to Cas's leg, covering it from the knee down. Cas's eyes were pinched shut, and he was breathing harshly. His friend's fingers were digging into the back of his hand.

"Dude, you're gonna tear my friggin' arm off," Dean said out of the corner of his mouth. Cas relaxed his grip, but only slightly.

"Alrighty," Doctor Robert said, withdrawing once the cast was firmly cemented on the lower half of Cas's leg. "Keep off of it for about six weeks, cover the cast with plastic wrap when you shower, and…" He retreated to one of his cabinets, rooting through a series of half-filled orange bottles. He tossed one to Dean, who caught it with his free hand. "Take some of those," he said. "Not too many, though, or you might sleep for three or four days."

"I feel as though that would improve my situation significantly," Cas grunted, eyes still pinched shut. They opened suddenly, and he turned his head to stare at Doctor Robert. "Did you say six weeks? I can't walk for _six weeks_?"

Doctor Robert's assistant returned from a supply closet with two crutches in tow. "No walking. You can hobble."

"That is unacceptable," Cas growled. "I cannot be incapacitated for that long."

"Unless you want us to chop it off, that's how it's gonna be," the assistant said. Doctor Robert clapped Cas on the shoulder, and Cas looked like he was about ready to jump off the table and strangle the guy.

"There, there, son. Six weeks isn't that long."

"I am not your son-"

"Cash or credit, Dean?" the doctor asked cheerfully. Dean rolled his eyes as he took his wallet out of his pocket.

"How much?"

"Two thousand should suffice."

"Two thousand – what the hell, doc! When did your rates go up that much?"

"Stopping your heart costs me a lot less than fixing a broken leg," Doctor Robert replied. "Two thousand."

Dean sighed, handing him one of his fake credit cards. "Just take it. I think two thousand is the limit, anyway."

Doctor Robert pocketed it. "Much obliged. Do you gentleman need anything else?"

 _A real fucking doctor, maybe?_ "I think we're good. Thanks a million." He released Cas's hand and gathered up the crutches. "Come on, Cas. Let's amscray."

"I don't know what that means, Dean."

"Remind me to explain Pig Latin to you later," Dean said as he put an arm around Cas's back and helped the trembling ex-angel to stand. "Don't put any weight on your left – yeah, there you go, just on your right." He passed Cas the crutches.

Cas stared at him like he was insane. "How are these supposed to help me?"

Dean didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "Put 'em under your arms, and then grab onto the bars. They're like extra legs."

Cas followed his instructions, then frowned deeply. "This is intensely uncomfortable."

"That means they're working." He patted Cas's back. "Later, doc," he said to Doctor Robert.

"Happy trails, boys."

He and Cas walked out of the doctor's 'office' and made their way to the stairs that would lead them back down to the butcher shop below. Dean examined the bottle that Doctor Robert had given them. It wasn't labeled. Yeah, no way in hell he was giving that shit to Cas. He'd find a way to snatch some meds for him from one of the pharmacies in Lebanon.

They slowly made their way down the stairs. A bead of sweat slipped down Cas's forehead. He kept a hand on the ex-angel's back, steadying him as they made it back down to the ground floor.

"Don't worry about it, man," he said, practically sensing Cas's thoughts. "Once Crowley's back to full power, we can have him finish off the job on your leg."

"Healing has always depleted Crowley's energy faster than any other of his powers," Cas said, his voice rougher than usual. "He needs to focus on finding the Garden. We have no time to waste. That is why I am angry. It is likely that I will have to deal with this injury for the next month and a half, and it will incapacitate me from doing anything of use."

"Well, look, it's gonna take Kevin awhile to crack trial number two, so at least there's nothing on our plates that we gotta do right this minute."

"I was under the impression that we would be hunting together," Cas told him as they made their way through the butcher shop. The man behind the counter eyed them warily, but said nothing.

"So we take a break." He didn't want to do that anymore than Cas did, but he wasn't about to drag Cas around hunting monsters when his leg was snapped. "We research. Try and help with the Eden hunt long distance."

Cas didn't respond. He looked like he was about to swoon. Note to self: get more alcohol. When they were back in the Impala and Cas was stretched out as comfortably as possible in the backseat, he turned around to look at him.

"Cas?"

"Yes?" the ex-angel asked tensely, looking down out his leg like it had personally betrayed him.

"I'm…" He was supposed to say something, here. He'd nearly lost Cas today. This was one of those moments when you said _something_. "I'm glad you're alright, Cas. You gave me a hell of a scare back there."

"It was not my intention to get pitched out a window," Cas replied.

"I didn't – I mean, I just don't want to lose you." Okay, this was getting awkward. "Been there, done that, you know?"

"Yes. Several times," Cas agreed. Dean cleared his throat, and then started up the Impala. "Dean." He glanced at Cas in the rearview mirror. "I don't want to lose you either."

Dean nodded stiffly, his throat closing with some kind of emotion he didn't really know how to identify. He pulled away from the curb. In the backseat, Cas closed his eyes.

* * *

"Easy does it, Cas." Dean assisted Cas in getting down the stairs and into the foyer. "Why did the Men of Letters never think to put some elevators up in this bitch?"

"I'm questioning that myself," Cas said dimly. Dean had managed to snake some heavy duty pain killers from a pharmacy on the way home. He'd driven straight through since they left Doctor Robert's yesterday afternoon. Between the alcohol and later the pills (not at the same time - yikes), Cas had been unconscious for most of the ride back. He wasn't particularly coherent now, either.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Kevin walked into the foyer, a half eaten sandwich in his hand. He froze when he saw Cas.

"Whoa, what happened?" he asked through a mouthful of ham.

"Bitch demon threw Cas out a window," he explained as Cas hobbled to the couch with his crutches, Dean following close behind him. "This happened."

"Did you get rid of the demons?" Kevin inquired, watching as Cas practically collapsed onto the sofa. The ex-angel let out an ungodly groan of relief, leaning his head back against the arm of the couch.

"Oh yeah," Dean said. "We took care of 'em."

"They were not a problem," Cas grumbled. "I am only injured because I was caught off-guard." Cas cracked open one eye. "Dean, you shouldn't waste time… go. Call Anthriel. Tell her we were successful."

"And what am I supposed to say when she asks where you are?"

"Lie," Cas grumbled. "You once told me that it's what humans do when they want something."

Dean frowned. He had said that, hadn't he? He realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that Cas hadn't known how to lie when they met. Dean was the one who taught him how. He really didn't know how to feel about that.

"I guess I can say you stuck around the bunker to keep an eye on Sam and Kevin," he said. "I'll think of something." He turned to Kevin. "Anything happen while we were gone?"

"I'm working on the second trial and the subsection after it," Kevin replied. "It's…" He shrugged. "It's going. I wish I could work faster."

"You're doing fine, kid. I don't want you having another mental breakdown."

"I think that was more from the whole being terrified for my life thing," Kevin said. "Now that I don't have to worry about Crowley kidnapping and torturing me, I'm a lot more stable. The lack of sleep deprivation helps, too."

Dean nodded. "No kidding." He glanced down at Cas, who looked like he was already asleep. "Alright. I'll go call up the God Squad, I guess. If I don't come back, look around town for me-shaped burn marks."

* * *

Back in the same barn that they summoned Anthriel to five days ago, Dean called out the female angel's name.

"Anthriel. It's Dean Winchester. We did your little errand! Abaddon's lieutenant is dead, and we killed at least forty of the bastards in the process. Where's our gold medal?"

"I hope that our gratitude will suffice." He turned to see the blonde angel standing several feet away from him, regarding him coolly. "You did well, Dean. I'm surprised."

"What can I say? We exceed expectations."

"Indeed you do." She glanced around the dilapidated barn. "Where is Castiel?"

"Sam's in bad shape," he said quietly. "He stayed behind to watch his back."

To his surprise, Anthriel smiled at him. It was a cold smile, and it didn't reach her eyes. "I imagine the broken leg is hindering him as well."

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. How did she know about that?

Anthriel strode towards him, looking way too self-satisfied for her own good. "Did you really think that we haven't been watching you this whole time, ever since the Fall?" she asked, tilting her head at an inhuman angle. "We know all about Gabriel…" _Shit._ "All about Crowley… " _Double shit._ "All about your hunt for the Garden…" _Triple shit._ "There's no point in lying to us anymore. We know _everything_."

How the hell had they even managed to follow them? Weren't the angels a little preoccupied with the world war that was happening? Not to mention, he and Sam both had those Enochian scratches on their ribs that kept them hidden from angels – all angels. And Crowley probably had himself warded to the nines…

_But Cas and Bobby aren't hidden from the angels. They can be tracked and followed, no problem._

"Damn it," he said softly. "What are you going to do with everything, then?" Dean asked lowly.

"I believe we can still be useful to each other."

"Yeah, how's that?"

"We will help you complete the trials. We'll protect you when possible… in return, you will do everything necessary to find Eden, stop Xaphan and Abaddon, and help us win the war."

They were going to do that anyway, but okay. "Fine."

"And you will tell us when you find the Garden – you will deliver its location to us."

Fat chance, bitch. "Fine," he repeated tensely.

"And Dean?" She closed the remaining distance between them, her pale blue eyes pinning him. They held no warmth like Cas's; they were as frosty as ice. "Whether you trust me or not, I do understand necessity. I understand that the demon Crowley is useful to you. But when this is finished and he is no longer an asset, you _will_ kill him. We can't afford to let a demon that powerful walk the Earth."

Kill Crowley? A month ago, he would've been on board with that in a second, but now? He still couldn't claim to like Crowley – he was a smug little dick who was only out for himself – but he couldn't ignore the fact that Crowley had gone the extra mile for them since the angels fell. Without him, Sam and Cas would both be dead. He couldn't pretend that humanity hadn't had any effect on Crowley, because it had obviously changed him.

"Someone's got to run Hell," Dean argued. "It'll be anarchy otherwise. Crowley keeps the mooks in line."

"Under Crowley's rule, the doors to Hell have been practically propped open. Demons walk the Earth as they please, so long as they work for him. The amount of Crossroads deals skyrocketed once he took charge. He's responsible for more damned humans than Lucifer himself."

"He's a hell of a lot better than Abaddon."

"When we finish this – and we _will_ finish this – we will slam shut all of the devil's gates that have opened. We will have depleted their forces enough that we can reduce the demons to what they were before you and your brother opened the grand gate in 2007. Before Lilith and her ilk rose from Perdition."

Dean searched for something to say. He wasn't sure if he could look Crowley in the eye and knife him. Not anymore. Really, it would be a pretty shitty way to pay him back for everything he did for them. Then again, it's not as if Crowley hadn't done his fair share of crap. Son of a bitch had been a pain in their asses since the second they met him, occasional helping hand or not. He couldn't just wipe his record clean, not when he started killing everyone they'd ever saved. Not when he shot Cas in the gut and nearly killed him.

But still. He'd managed to forgive Cas for all the shit he'd pulled over the years – including letting Lucifer loose in Sam's brain and busting open Purgatory – so maybe, maybe, he could overlook everything Crowley had done to them, in light of his connection with Sam, and the amount of times he'd saved their asses…

"And what if I say no?" he ventured.

"Then I will kill you where you stand," she said sharply, fisting a hand in the fabric of his t-shirt and lifting him several inches off of his feet. "I am not Naomi. I do not believe that you are more valuable to us alive than dead. I don't care if you are the Righteous Man, the Michael Sword – everything you touch falls into ruin. I am keeping you alive only because I need Castiel on our side, as he's the one who's undertaken the trials."

"And you expect me to work with someone who would kill me as soon as look at me?"

"You're already working with the King of Hell, who no doubt plans to end you and your brother before this is all said and done. You're no stranger to working with your enemies," she said menacingly. "I know how you and your brother function, Dean Winchester. As long as you consider me the lesser of two evils, than we are in a state of synergy."

"What if I decide that I'd rather have Abaddon running this rock instead of you and the rest of the League of Extraordinary Douche Bags? Ever thought of that?"

"You would never choose her over us. She seeks to destroy the world."

"Tell me then, what do the angels _seek_ to do? When this is all over, what do you want?"

"We want to return to Heaven."

"And then what? Back to brainwashing each other, right? Or maybe another civil war? Or maybe you decide, screw it, let's try and find a way to let Michael and Lucifer out?" He glared at the angel, refusing to back down, refusing to be intimidated – he'd faced a hell of a lot worse than some hyped up angel bitch in his time. "Face it: you dicks, you can't handle yourselves."

"What would you do, then? Exterminate us?"

"No. I think you should go back to Heaven and stay the hell there, because after we finish the trials and crack open the great piggy bank in the sky, I never want to see any of you sons of bitches again. I don't give a damn what happens to you once you're up there. Fight and claw at each other until every last one of you is dead, if you want. Just keep Earth and the humans out of it. That's my end of the deal. When this war's over, Xaphan's back in his Cage, and Abaddon's dead – ET goes home, and _never comes back_."

Anthriel watched him for a long moment, seeming to consider his offer. "No angels on Earth?" she asked.

"You and your fucked up family are always complaining about us smelly apes. Why not take the chance to get away from us permanently?"

"This is our Father's greatest Creation."

"Yeah, and how are you enjoying it so far?" he countered. Anthriel's jaw tensed. Finally, she released him. He flattened out the wrinkle in his shirt. Damn, what was with angels and manhandling people? "That's what I thought."

"Fine. We will return to Heaven and leave this planet behind, so long as you ensure that Castiel can reopen the gates. In return-"

"I know my end of the deal, sister. Just make sure you keep yours," he cut across her. She glared at him, but nodded.

"The same goes for you, Dean. Do not betray me, or so help me, I will bring a kind of Hell down on you that you only tasted with Alastair."

With that rather over-dramatic threat, the angel of balance and harmony disappeared, leaving Dean alone to contemplate just how to go about telling the others that he was supposed to kill Crowley.


	43. King and Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley must face what he was, but Sam is there to face it with him.

Sam sighed heavily, pinching his eyes shut. The words were beginning to swim together on the page. He'd completely lost track of time. Bobby was passed out on one of the couches, a lore book written in Arabic lying open on his face. He found the faint drone of Bobby's snores in the background oddly comforting. He was still getting used to Bobby being alive, and he often found himself smiling like an idiot around the other hunter.

He'd really missed the old man. More than Bobby would ever know.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, glancing at the clock. Three in the morning. God, last time he'd checked it hadn't even been nine. He picked up his notebook and the tome he was currently working his way through and closed the both of them. He needed sleep. He rose from his chair, his back smarting as he did so. With Crowley still comatose and therefore still in his bed, he'd slept on the couch the night before.

The couch was perfectly comfortable. Unfortunately, it was not intended for someone who was 6' 5".

Tonight, he didn't really care about sleeping in the same bed as Crowley. Another night on the couch, and he'd be limping for days. It's not like Crowley was awake to make his usual slew of innuendos, anyway.

He was actually beginning to worry about Crowley. He'd been out for thirty-seven hours at this point – and he hadn't heard so much as a rustle from Crowley's mind. He was well and truly out. If Crowley didn't wake by tomorrow night, he was going to have to figure out something to wake the demon up. How he would go about doing that, he wasn't sure, but he'd have to at least try.

Sam went into his bedroom and changed into a pair of sweats and a thin white v-neck, his typical sleep attire. On the bed, Crowley was in the exact same position they'd left him in yesterday afternoon. Sam flicked off the lamp, enshrouding the room in darkness, except for the dim lights of the city filtering in through the window. He stood in front of the window and admired Doha's impressive skyline for a few moments before turning to the bed.

Sleeping in bed with Crowley. Whatever. It was better than a night on the couch, and there was more than enough room for the two of them. Sam slid under the covers and bunched up one of the pillows under his head, getting himself comfortable. He could already feel the exhaustion dragging him off to sleep. In just a few minutes, he was out like a light.

For a few hours, he slept peacefully, but just as the sun was threatening to rise, his fragmented dreams were interrupted by vivid nightmares.

_"Oh, come on, not the cold shoulder routine," Crowley drawls, trailing a razor sharp knife up the length of Meg's jaw. The female demon is bound by metal restraints to a steel table in his lab. "I know how many noises you can make."_

_"I'm done playing your games," she says hoarsely. "You want a rise? Find someone else to be your chew toy."_

_Ah. She's figured out that he likes it better when she struggles. When she screams and thrashes, spits at him and calls him every foul thing in every language she knows - which with how old Meg is, it's a rather impressive number - and attempts to claw his eyes out._

_He digs the tip in just under her chin, just enough to draw blood. "What you keep forgetting is that if your entertainment value drops, well..." He drives the knife in deeper, and Meg winces. He watches as a droplet of blood leaks down her pale throat. "What exactly is the point of you, then, my little whore?"_

_"You won't kill me," she hisses. "I was with Lucifer the entire time he was on Earth, and Azazel for centuries before that. I'm too valuable for you to kill."_

_"Yes, but I've been at you for how long now? Eight, nine months? Spit-roasted you like jerky, and yet..." He abruptly removes the knife from her chin and stabs it into the meat of her bare thigh. She screams, and he chuckles lowly. There's the reaction he's looking for. "Still so reticent._ _Why bother to keep you alive? Why, when you clearly have no intention of telling me anything?"_

_"Screw you," Meg coughs as a tear slips down the side of her face._

_He fists a hand in her hair, jerking her head back. "My standards are a bit too high for that, I'm afraid." He twists the knife, and Meg flails violently against her bonds. It's to no avail, though. They are iron and covered in binding sigils, not to mention all the sigils he'd carved into Meg's meat suit to prevent her from smoking out or using any of her powers. She is well and truly his._

_The scenery around him suddenly changes. This time it's Gavin, and he has his twelve year old son on the ground, punching him in the face. His hand's around Gavin's throat, squeezing tightly. The world is spinning around him. He's drunk - he doesn't know how drunk, but pretty damn drunk - and he hears Gavin screaming for him to stop, but he doesn't care, because he's just damn angry. He can't remember why he's so angry, just that he is and someone needs to pay for it._

_His wife's yelling, he feels her fingernails digging into his shoulders. He turns around, backhanding her hard across the face. It was a knee-jerk reaction. He hadn't meant to hit her, really. He'd never hit Vida before. Gavin, yes, in his drunken fits, but never Vida. The look she gives him is one of pure betrayal. An apology is already on his tongue, but before he can say a single word, she's gathering Gavin up from the ground and hurrying out the door._

_Furious with himself, he lets his fist fly into the wall, and he can feel that he's broken some of his knuckles. Blood seeps into the cracks of his fingers, and when he pulls back his hand, there's a dent in the wooden wall. He leans his forehead against the wall, and he wonders just how he fell this far._

_And then he's back on the rack, and Daityas's too-white smile is all he sees as he's skinned alive. He hears himself screaming, sobbing, begging, but it all sounds like it's coming from so far away. "It would all be so easy to end it, Fergus, you just have to give in. This pain, is it really worth it? It's so easy to just say yes. Just pick up the knife. I can teach you so many things... you have so much potential..."_

_"STOP! I - I give up. I'll do it. Please. Please just stop."_

_"That's what I've been waiting to hear from you for so long, Fergus. I'm proud of you. You were strong. But now it's time for what you were really meant for. This is your destiny." He feels the restraints binding him vanish, and suddenly, he's clothed and his wounds have disappeared. It's been so long that he's felt anything but searing heat, pain, and terror that the change is almost overwhelming as he steps away from the rack._

_Daityas raises a hand and snaps his fingers. Suddenly, there's someone else on the rack where he was just moments ago. She's a young woman - can't be much older than... than... what was his son's name? He's forgetting so many things, now. Forgetting who he is. The pain's washed everything away. He only remembers his name because it's the word that is always crooned into his ear while Daityas carves him up._

_An ice cold scalpel is pressed into his shaking hand. "I'm glad that you've finally agreed to my deal. Ten years is a long time to suffer, isn't it?" The demon's fingers wrap around his wrist, guiding the scalpel down to meet the pale skin of the screaming woman on the rack. "Don't worry," Daityas whispers to him, breath cold against his face. "It gets much easier after your first time."_

Sam woke up screaming. He sat up swiftly, his heart a drum roll inside of his chest. There were tears in his eyes, and he was struggling for breath. What the hell had that been? Why had he just had a dream entirely from Crowley's point of view? He looked to his side, and his question answered itself. Crowley was twisted up in the sheets, his hands tangled into his hair. His body was trembling, and with the way the demon's breath was hitching, he would dare to say he was crying.

That hadn't been his nightmare. That had been _Crowley's_ nightmare... and he'd been sucked inside of it. How did that even happen? Could demons even dream? Sam knelt next to Crowley. He put a hand on his shoulder, and through their link, he could feel nothing but irrational, overwhelming fear from him, so powerful that it made him feel like he needed to get Crowley up and run from the room - run and never look back.

"Crowley," he called the demon's name, trying to wake him. He could feel the nightmare threatening to drag him back into Crowley's head, and the last thing he wanted was to experience any of that again. "Crowley! Come on, wake up!" He pushed Crowley onto his back. His eyes were moving rapidly under his eyelids, and the demon had bitten down so hard on his bottom lip that his mouth was stained with blood.

He took Crowley's wrists in his hands, and his preternaturally warm skin was even hotter than usual, almost feverish. He pulled the demon's hands away from his head, and Crowley let out a faint growl low in his throat. _"CROWLEY!"_ he shouted both out loud and over their link.

Finally, Crowley's eyelids split open with a gasp, and he bolted up so fast that it brought their faces within inches of each other. They stared at each other, and the faint light streaming through the window illuminated the terror in the demon king's eyes. Without thinking, he released Crowley's wrists and dragged the demon to him, hugging him tightly. Crowley was still shaking badly.

For a moment, Crowley did nothing. Then, his hands rose to rest on Sam's back. His fingers knotted into the fabric of his v-neck, hanging on tightly. He was still crying, but he could tell that the demon was trying hard to force himself to stop. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say - even the night that he attempted to cure Crowley, he wasn't this bad. Sobbing and screaming about wanting to be loved and wanting forgiveness, yes... but even then, he hadn't seemed this human. This vulnerable.

He held onto Crowley, and the demon buried his face into Sam's neck. The terror was starting to fade, replaced by a slew of emotions that neither of them were particularly ready to process. There was misery, and there was shame, and so, so, _so_ much regret. Guilt that felt as though it weighed hundreds of tons, worse than what he felt even after he jump-started the apocalypse.

 _"It's okay,"_ he said, not trusting himself to speak out loud, because as more and more of Crowley's walls collapsed and his emotions flooded over him, he felt tears building in his eyes and sorrow choking his throat. _"Crowley, you're alright. They were just nightmares. You're awake now. Nothing's gonna hurt you."_

"I... I..." the demon's words died before they could make it out of his mouth. _"I'm sorry."_

_"You have nothing to apologize for."_

_"You shouldn't have to see that."_

_"Neither should you,"_ he countered.

_"I did all of that. ME. I deserve to be haunted. It's all very Dickensian, isn't it? God, I don't what's worse, the flashbacks to when I was a human or when I was a demon."_

He was relieved to see a bit of the Crowley he was used to shining through the traumatized half-human he was currently holding in his arms. _"You were different before."_

_"Not that different."_

_"You're not looking too closely, then."_

_"I was no good as a human. No good as a demon. Why would being half of each make me some kind of saint?"_

_"I didn't say you were a saint, but from what I've seen since the angels fell... you're trying to be good, Crowley. And that counts for so much."_

_"It'll never be enough."_

_"Never be enough for what?"_

_"Never be enough to make up for what I've done."_

_"Crowley..."_ He searched for something to say, but he didn't know how to respond. He didn't know how to make this better. He'd been where Crowley was before, hating himself and feeling as though he would never be able to make up for all of the horrible things he's done... feeling like no matter what he did, the good parts of him would never be able to outweigh the darkness.

Crowley withdrew from their embrace, wiping a hand across his face. "Damn it," he sighed, and he could feel his embarrassment. Sam sat next to him, unsure of what to do now. He swallowed, watching Crowley's face. His eyes were downcast, glistening, but inscrutable. He could practically feel Crowley's walls surge back up, stiff as steel and blocking him out.

"I need a drink," Crowley eventually said. "I'm calling room service and getting a bottle. Something good. Something strong." Crowley swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose slowly. He made his way out of Sam's bedroom. _"You're welcome to join me,"_ the demon added.

_"It's five in the morning."_

_"So float a bloody cheerio in it,"_ came the demon's snarky response. Sam snorted, then went after Crowley, ignoring the fatigue dragging at his bones. Crowley was already on the phone when he got in there, ordering a bottle of Merlo that was older than Sam was. When he was finished, he hung up and promptly fell back onto the couch, throwing up his feet on the coffee table. He played absent-mindedly with his wounded bottom lip. He always seemed to do that when he was stressed, or thinking.

Sam sat down next to him, watching him worriedly. "How are you feeling?" he ventured. "I mean, after healing Cas and everything." He could tell that the opportunities to talk about anything deeper than that with Crowley had passed.

Crowley took so long to respond that he wondered if the demon had actually heard him at all. "Good enough. My energy's recovered fully."

A knock came at their door. Crowley, seeming to forget himself, made a gesture with his hand. The door opened by itself, and left the attendant who had their bottle of wine looking very confused. He brought it forward, and Crowley tipped him with much more money than was strictly necessary, then waved him off. He snapped his fingers, and two crystal wine glasses appeared in front of them. He poured a decent amount into each. He offered one to Sam, who accepted it cautiously.

"Weird to see you drinking something other than Glenncraig," he admitted.

"I'm a demon of wide and varied tastes, Moose," Crowley said, though it lacked his usual bravado. He sloshed his wine around in his glass, then took a deep, draining sip. When he finished, he looked at Sam expectantly. "Care to tell me what happened yesterday? Your brother, font of information as he is, didn't bother to give me the down low. Castiel was almost in pieces when I got to him."

"Well, they took out the demon nest, but Abaddon's lieutenant was a little more than they bargained for." He tentatively sipped his drink. He wasn't a huge wine fan, but his time at Stanford acquainted him well enough with it that he didn't outright hate it like Dean did. "You remember Bela Talbot, right?"

 _"Bela gave the Colt to a demon named Crowley."_ Sam realized that the first time he'd ever heard Crowley's name was in relation to Bela.

"Vividly," Crowley said with a smug arching of his eyebrows. "What's she got to do with Abaddon?"

"Apparently Abaddon dragged her out of Hell early. Bela's her right hand demon."

Crowley nearly choked on his wine. "What!?"

That was a new one. It was rare that he ever saw Crowley blindsided. "Uh, yeah. She's the one who threw Cas out of a window-"

Crowley set down his glass of wine, and Sam was surprised to feel blazing fury radiating off the demon. "I'm going to tear out that ginger whore's heart and shove it down her fucking _throat_ -!"

"Whoa, whoa, why are you freaking out? Catch me up," Sam said as Crowley's face turned a rather brilliant shade of crimson.

"I put her in a place where she wasn't supposed to be bothered," Crowley said, gulping the rest of his glass and slamming it down on the arm of the couch. "Where no one else could get to her."

Sam's brow furrowed. "And why did you do that...?" Crowley let out a short sigh, his hands flexing compulsively. Sam thought he smelled something burning, and he nudged Crowley when he realized he'd caused the curtains to start smoking. "Okay, if you want the security deposit back on this place, you need to calm down."

"When the hounds dragged Bela down, she was the only one who knew that I was working against Lilith and the rest of Hell's hierarchy. I'd convinced her to feed Lilith the lie that the Colt was destroyed, when in reality, she gave it to me." He gestured at himself to emphasize his point. "I stowed it away for a rainy day where I needed to kill the devil. But that's beside the point; Bela knew I was a traitor, and I couldn't allow her anywhere near Alastair or any of his protégés. I stowed her somewhere out of the way - the same place I put Bobby, in fact - to give her the slow-boil damnation. She shouldn't have been ripe for a few decades, yet. Dragging her out this early? I'm surprised our favorite power couple even made it out with only a few dozen broken bones."

Crowley drank directly out of the bottle before continuing. "And, well, there is a rather personal factor to it. We were, ah... I suppose you could say we were lovers in league against Satan." He smirked bitterly and took another gulp. Sam watched the demon apprehensively, not sure whether he was surprised or not at the fact that Bela and Crowley were a thing. Guess Becky was wrong - he'd been with Bela, not Lilith.

"Oh, I was with Lilith, too," Crowley told him. "Keep your friends close, enemies closer, bla, bla, bla." Sam glared at him.

"How is it fair that I don't get to hear what you're thinking, but you can just pick through my head whenever you want?"

"Life isn't fair, darling, that's what makes it interesting," Crowley replied. "So, yes, I'm a bit put out that Abaddon went and completely buggered the natural order of things once again, and then took someone who was... _important_ to me, at least strategically, and twisted them into being her own personal hellhound. Yet another thing I'll be taking out of that pert ass of hers when I have the chance." Crowley's eyes flicked to him. "I'm guessing she's dead now, since she dared to lay a hand on Dean's darling angel?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Crowley waved him off before continuing his work on single-handedly drinking the entire bottle of wine. _"Better dead than Abaddon's lackey. I'm not the sentimental type, Moose."_

"You seem pretty upset."

"I'm 'pretty upset' in general, at the moment," Crowley replied. "I'm not in the kind of mood that allows me to deal well with bad news."

"Look, it's alright," Sam said. "Well, it's not alright, but we'll stop Abaddon from doing anything like this again. We'll take her down, and you'll be back on the throne soon enough."

"Mmm." Crowley grimaced. "You've no idea how long it will take to stop her."

"We're just going to have to be patient."

"Funnily enough, patience is not one of my virtues." Without asking, Crowley poured more wine into Sam's glass. "Come to think of it, I don't really have any virtues."

"The self-deprecating routine doesn't work for you," Sam commented.

"Don't I know it." Crowley took the bottle and made his way to the balcony. Sam watched him as he went and leaned on the railing, staring out over Doha contemplatively. The sun was rising more fully now, a faint orange-red light cresting the horizon. Sam followed him.

"We will stop her, Crowley," Sam said, taking the bottle out of the demon's hand (he wasn't sure more alcohol was going to do him much good) and setting it on the ground. Crowley looked at him, his expression inscrutable. "I swear to you, we will."

Crowley didn't reply. Sam moved to stand beside the demon, and together, they watched the sun rise over the city.


	44. Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas is a gimp, and Dean has a gay crisis.

The next three weeks were probably the slowest of Dean's life.

Cas point blank refused to further slow down the Eden hunt by calling on Crowley. Even though the demon – once he was up and about again – offered to come and speed up the healing process on Cas's leg, he refused, worried that it would bench Crowley for another day or two to do so, and they couldn't afford that, now. He also privately thought that Cas didn't like the idea of trusting his health to Crowley. In the heat of the moment with no other alternative, sure, but when he was clear headed and not in dire need of it? That was a whole different story.

Cas, determined to make himself useful in spite of his bum leg and slight narcotic haze, spent an unhealthy amount of time searching through the Letters library for any vague reference to Eden. Now that he knew how to operate an email account and had subsequently made one, all of his findings were immediately forwarded to both Sam and Bobby.

Ignoring Cas's protests that he could do it himself, Dean made all of his meals for him, knowing that it was hard as hell for him to navigate around the kitchen with his crutches. Not to mention, short of being able to make a surprisingly good sandwich, Cas's culinary skills left a lot to be desired. Dean found himself delivering meals twice a day to the library, then dragging the ex-angel to bed once he could see his eyelids start to droop.

Dean was glad that he wasn't much of a toss-and-turner when he slept, because otherwise he and Cas might have had to sleep in separate beds, or run the risk of him banging Cas's leg in the middle of the night. Cas was continuously frustrated by his broken leg. Showering was a hell of a time (not that he stuck around to watch, but he had to listen to Cas bitch about it) and Cas repeatedly bumped the plaster cast into everything possible.

One pro of the situation: Cas had finally learned how to swear. He almost cried tears of pride the first time he heard the former angel of the Lord shout "FUCK!" at the top of his lungs when the bathroom door slammed into his cast.

After a few days of Cas's bibliophile attitude, Dean forced his friend out of the library and onto the couch. He inquired with Kevin if he could borrow his Playstation ("So help me God, Dean, if you touch my _Skyrim_ save, I'm going to take this tablet and break it over your head.") and once he'd obtained it, he set it up in what passed for their living room and turned on Netflix.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked.

"I figure, if we have to sit sidelines for a little while, we might as well make use of the time," Dean said, plopping down next to his friend. "Lessons in humanity, Cas. You're still pretty green as a human. You've got the basics down – eating, sleeping, tying your shoes, whatever – but you gotta know the _culture_ , man."

"I still don't understand your meaning."

"Okay, basically? We're gonna sit here and laugh at stupid shit. Sound good?"

"Why would we laugh at something we find stupid?" Cas asked with his signature head tilt.

"Because we're human, and because it's stupid," Dean explained simply. "We're starting with _South Park_. Sammy thinks it's disgusting and juvenile. So, naturally, I love it."

It turned out that Cas's opinion of _South Park_ wasn't much different from Sam's. Not to mention the ex-angel's perpetual confusion.

"Children would never be allowed to do that."

"Why are their heads so disproportionate to the size of their bodies?"

"It is a physical impossibility for one human being to produce that much vomit."

Okay. So Cas didn't get _South Park_ – there were plenty of other human-type things to catch him up on. And so began their nightly routine of Cas's 'Lessons in Humanity', as Dean called them. He had several motives. One, he was hoping that at some point, he would be able to make references that Cas actually understood. Plus, it was nice to drag him out of the library and just spend time with him. And seriously, what was more human than TV and snacks?

After getting through half of his list on Netflix and not finding anything that seemed to really appeal to Cas, he gave up and got the DVD set of _Game of Thrones_. Bingo. Cas fell in love with it – and he could explain everything that Dean didn't fully understand, which was great, 'cause sometimes that shit got pretty complicated.

However, all this time they spent together did confirm Dean's realization that whatever was going on with he and Cas, it was a thing. Not just a thing anymore, but a _thing_ thing. No matter how much straight denial he heaped on himself, heterosexual best friends did not sleep in the same bed together. If he just felt brotherly love for Cas, he wouldn't suddenly start stuttering distractedly when the ex-angel walked around the bunker without a shirt on – which he'd developed the annoying habit of doing quite a lot. If Cas was _just_ his friend, he wouldn't spend his nights with Cas's feet in his lap, massaging the non-broken one as they watched _Dr. Sexy_ reruns and Aziraphale purred and kneaded Cas's stomach.

There had always been something between the two of them, he wasn't going to deny that. What he and Cas had, it was kind of a weird deal. Profound bond actually covered it pretty well – after all, most people don't meet their best friends when they drag them out of Hell. Most people's best friends aren't super powerful angels, either. They'd faced down the apocalypse and Satan together. They were tied together almost as closely as he and Sam were. Even after Purgatory, playing God, Naomi, the tablet, all of that crap, he could never imagine giving Cas up. He needed him as much as he needed his little brother.

When Cas was an angel, he never thought of anything like this, because Cas seemed so ridiculously unavailable and unattainable that his mind had never even strayed into that territory. Cas was always flying in and out of their lives. The only time he'd had Cas around for more than four or five days straight was when the two of them were trapped in Purgatory together, and they had a few more important things on their mind when they were there.

But now Cas was human, and Cas was always around, and he was having feelings. Feelings he didn't know what the hell to do with.

This Cas thing must have been some kind of fluke. Things were insane lately, between Bobby being resurrected, Crowley switching over to their side, Cas being human, the angels falling and the war, and then he and Sammy splitting up… nothing was the same. Maybe his mind was just looking for some kind of comfort, something to hold onto when everything around them was changing. It's not like he had much exposure to women anymore, since everyone he spent time with – Sam, Kevin, Cas, Bobby, and Crowley – were guys.

Hell, it had been so long since he'd been with anyone, since before Purgatory, even. That definitely played into it, too. His brain was freaking out because of what was happening to his life, and his dick was freaking out because he hadn't had any action other than his right hand in years.

After piling rationalization on top of rationalization, he decided to push all of the confusing shit he was feeling towards Cas to the side as much as he could. Now was so not the time for _that_. Cas was his best friend. That was it. It was never gonna be anything more than that. There was no point in even letting his mind go down that avenue.

Coincidentally, his mind decided that he wasn't really worth listening to. It was a problem.

His talk with Anthriel was still prevalent in his thoughts, as well. He'd recounted much of the conversation with Cas, leaving out only Anthriel's small caveat that he had to kill Crowley as a part of their deal. He had Cas sketch down all of the Enochian warding that he'd branded on he and Sam's ribs back in '09, and a day after he'd met with the female angel, he brought Cas to get all of the warding tattooed on him. The entirety of Cas's back, from shoulder blades down to the bottom of his spine, was now covered in the warding. He would be hidden from angels now, as well.

Cas had sent along the warding sketch to Bobby with the instructions to get the same thing done. They couldn't afford having the angels know their every movement. No way.

But that still left him to deal with the fact that he was supposed to somehow knife Crowley. One of the only allies they had – reliable allies, anyway, Gabriel wasn't exactly on speed dial – and he was supposed to just what, slit his throat? And then what happens to Hell? Some other agro demon takes over, and they've got another problem on their plate.

Plus, Sam had a soft spot for the smug little dick. He'd be jack-pissed if he killed Crowley. And with their weird head thing, who knew what effect killing Crowley would have on Sam?

He had no idea what to do. Crowley had faked his own death well enough before, so that was an option… but then Crowley couldn't exactly run Hell anymore if he was in hiding from the angels. If he told Crowley that he was supposed to kill him and then the demon refused to bite the fake bullet, he didn't know where that would put them.

_On opposite sides… again._

He knew he was going to have to make a choice eventually, but that was still a ways off. They had to win the war and get the gates open first.

June bled into July. The angel and demon war showed no sign of slowing down anytime in the near future. The fighting was getting worse and worse in Western Europe. It looked like London in particular was the location of the worst battlefield. There had been footage on the news of the Thames running red with blood and Whitehall burning in the distance. There were riots all over the city, daily 'bombings' (if only they knew) and just general chaos.

London would be the next to fall, just like Tampa and Cleveland. The angels had managed to take Boston away from the demons after Dean and Cas dealt with Bela, but right now, it looked like the demons were winning. It was a numbers game, and the demons were always going to have more cannon fodder than the angels. You can make more demons. You can't make more angels.

As the weeks dragged on, Dean was slowly starting to go out of his mind with boredom. He didn't want to leave Cas and Kevin alone in the bunker. He was pretty sure that when they weren't there, Kevin didn't eat or sleep. Or bathe. Cas often needed help with certain things with his bum leg, as well. So, instead of hitting the road solo, he stayed behind at the bunker.

He used his ample amounts of free time to map out the bunker. The place extended for miles underground, and he and Sam had only searched through a portion of the maze of corridors. During the day, Dean explored and marked down the different rooms and their contents. The Letters had enough freaky artifacts to open up a damn museum.

The Men of Letters also seemed to be into some pretty sketchy witch craft. He'd found dusty old spell books filled with black magic that even Crowley probably would've turned his nose up at. He didn't know whether they had this stuff for safekeeping, or if they were actually using the crap. The Letters legacy might've been a darker title than he originally thought.

Sam was unsurprisingly happy when Dean told him that he was starting to catalogue and plot the place out. Sam had wanted to do it for months, but they'd just never had the time.

Almost three weeks after Cas had broken his leg, Dean got a call from Charlie. He was in one of the farthest reaches of the bunker, and up to his ass in jars of he-didn't-even-want-to-know when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't have a clue how he got cell service down there, but he was never going to stop being grateful for it.

"Hello?"

"Hey," Charlie greeted. "So, you know how I said I'd stop by after I figured out my chick-flick stuff?"

"Yeah. I was actually gonna call you. Cas and I are gonna have a Tolkien marathon, and I figured you'd castrate me if I didn't-"

"Dean, as much as I'm madly in love with the closeted nerd in you, now is really not the time." He realized now that Charlie was whispering – rather urgently, too. "I'm in a bit of a pickle."

Dean rose from where he was crouching on the ground, immediately going on alert. "Charlie, what's going on?"

"I may possibly be hiding in a linen closet in a house full of ghouls," she said, her voice squeaking slightly. "I thought there was only a few of them, but it turns out that it's more of a family affair."

"How many are we talking?"

"Ten? Twelve, maybe?"

"Shit," Dean swore. "Where are you?"

"Your hometown. Lawrence." He was going to ask her how she knew that, but then he remembered that Charlie unfortunately knew almost everything about him, thanks to Chuck and his fucking books. "394 Chestnut Lane. It's the big brick funeral home." She hitched in a breath. "Oh God. Hurrying would be great. Awesome. _Wonderful_."

"Don't let them find you. I'm coming. If anything happens, text, don't call – _don't let them catch you, Charlie_ ," he emphasized.

"Okay," Charlie said shakily. He was already on his feet and heading for Cas when he hung up the phone.

"Charlie's in trouble," Dean said as he entered their room. Cas was stretched out on their bed (when did it become _their_ bed?) with a book open in his lap. He grabbed his machete off of the wall. Cas's eyes immediately widened, and he set down his book.

"What happened?"

"She got herself trapped in a ghoul nest. Judging by the fact that she sounds terrified, I'd wager that they're the kind that don't feed on dead bodies," he said, grabbing his duffel from his closet.

"How many ghouls are there?"

"Sounds like about a dozen," he said offhandedly. "I'll be back when I can. I'll call you if anything goes wrong."

"You can't go against that many ghouls by yourself, Dean." Cas sat up, immediately going for his crutches. "I'm coming with you."

"Whoa, hey, hold up Dr. House. You can't go anywhere with your leg like that." Dean put a hand on Cas's shoulder and tried to push him back down on the bed, but the ex-angel refused to budge. Dean sighed. "Dude, if you want to Starsky and Hutch this bitch, you gotta have Crowley zap your leg back to normal."

"I don't want to distract-"

"This isn't a debate, Cas."

Cas glared at him, but the ex-angel knew that this wasn't an argument he was going to win. Dean was privately glad that he'd finally found a way to convince Cas to take the early healing on his leg. He knew that the frustration of being an invalid would get to him eventually. Cas removed his phone from his pocket and dialed Crowley's number. The demon picked up quickly. He could only hear Cas's half of the conversation, but he had a relatively good idea of what Crowley was saying.

"I have a request. Yes. Yes, thank you for healing me before. Yes. Crowley- I don't _have_ a fruit basket. Yes, I know what 'facetious' means. Yes. Fine. Thank you." Cas hung up his phone, looking disgruntled. A second later, Crowley appeared right next to Dean, causing him to jump nearly a foot in the air.

"Damn it, Crowley! How about a little warning next time!"

Crowley patted him on the back. "It's good for your heart, Squirrel." He stepped towards Cas. "So, playing doctor again, am I?"

"Just heal it," Cas ordered. Crowley arched an eyebrow at him.

"Didn't Daddy ever teach you manners?"

Cas looked seconds away from throttling the life out of Crowley. " _Please_ heal my leg, Crowley," he said through gritted teeth.

"Ah, now that's music to my ears," the demon said, cracking his knuckles. He went to Cas's side, laying his hand just above Cas's knee. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He imagined that this wouldn't take nearly as much energy as Cas's previously healing did. After all, Cas had practically been in pieces by the time Crowley got to him last time.

Cas gasped as Crowley's demon magic did its thing. He winced, gripping the comforter underneath him for support. He ducked his head, and he wondered if whatever Crowley was doing was causing him pain. If the tense set of the ex-angel's jaw was any indication, he would guess that it was.

After a moment that seemed to stretch out endlessly, Crowley released Cas's leg. The demon released a pent up breath, seeming only mildly fatigued by the healing routine he'd done on Cas. Cas's eyes widened as he lifted his leg tentatively and tapped on the side of his cast.

"It appears to be fine."

"Right as rain, good as new, etcetera," Crowley said in a bored tone. He snapped his fingers, and Cas's plaster cast instantly crumbled into dust. Dean groaned.

"All over my bed, dude, seriously?"

"Don't you mean you and Castiel's bed?" Crowley retorted. He snapped his fingers again, and the dust was gone. Cas massaged his leg, an expression of wonder on his face. "Is that all, or would you like me to press your shirts and dust the drapes as well?" Dean saw Crowley's sass for the cover that it was. He was the one who offered to heal Cas in the first place. Crowley was just trying to come out of this without looking too good-natured. Still worried about his demonic street cred, apparently.

"Yeah, yeah, we're good. Thanks," he said, waving Crowley off.

Crowley saluted them with two fingers. "God's speed." A second later, the demon was gone. Dean extended a hand to Cas and pulled him off of the bed. His friend was unsteady on his legs for a moment, so used to either standing on one foot or with the support of his crutches. Once Cas seemed okay to stand on his own, Dean let go of his hand.

"You sure you're good to do this, Cas?"

"More than sure. It is too dangerous for you to do this alone." Cas went to Dean's dresser, which was essentially both of theirs at this point, and picked his angel blade off of the top, turning it in his hand. He glanced back at Dean, a determined glint in his eye. "Let's go."

* * *

Lawrence was about four hours away, driving at a reasonable pace. It only took them an hour and a half to get there. Dean broke the speed limit the entire way. He came to a skidding halt in an empty lot behind the large funeral home that Charlie had directed him to. The backyard was surrounded by a chain link fence, but he would bet money that the patio door was unlocked, so that was their best chance to get in undetected.

They stepped out of the Impala. Both of them shut their respective doors quietly.

"It feels so good to walk on my own again," Cas commented softly as they made their way to the chain link fence that guarded the backyard. "I was feeling unbelievably restless."

"Well, if it feels so good to walk, it'll be downright orgasmic when you have to run screaming from a pack of hungry ghouls," Dean replied darkly. He hopped the fence, landing neatly in the muddy backyard of the funeral home. He drew his machete as Cas climbed over the fence.

"Wouldn't it be a better idea to eliminate all of the ghouls?" Cas inquired as he removed his own machete. It glinted in the bloody red light of the fading sun.

"If Charlie's in bad shape, we might have to hightail it out of here," Dean explained. The two of them crept up to the back porch. "Remember, quiet feet, man. You get Charlie, I take out the ghouls ninja-style."

Cas nodded. "I will be a ghost," he assured him in a tone that cleared away most of Dean's doubts. Cas may have still been clumsily learning how to be human, but he was already a trained, hardened soldier.

Dean slid open the backdoor. He allowed Cas to slink in before him. Without another word, Cas was padding soundlessly through the kitchen and heading for the stairs. Charlie said she was hiding in the linen closet in the dead middle of the second floor.

Dean made his way through the ground floor of the funeral home, ears sharpened for sounds of movement. He heard muffled footsteps from a hallway immediately to his right. He rounded the corner, machete poised and ready. He waited for the right moment, then flipped around and swung his arm in an upward arc.

The ghoul's mouth barely had time to open before its head was severed from its body. Blood splashed across Dean's face, and he turned away to avoid getting the arterial spray in his eyes.

One down, who knew how many more to go. Just as Dean went to turn, hands grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. He was slammed into the wall hard, and heard his nose crack as his face collided with the dry wall.

"What do we have here? A visit from a hunter, eh? You shouldn't have come here alone... at least we've got a hot and fresh breakfast for tomorrow, now," the ghoul growled into his ear. The monster's fetid breath ghosted across his skin, causing him to shudder.

"Get a breath mint, asshat," Dean snapped in response, his voice muffled by his possibly broken nose.

Dean managed to push the ghoul back just enough to get his feet on the wall. Using the ghoul as support for his back, he essentially ran up the wall. Once he was high enough, he pushed off of the wall and used his momentum to flip over top of the ghoul. Since the monster was still gripping his arms, once Dean was sailing over his head, he ended up getting flipped over as well and thrown into the opposite wall.

Dean swiftly brought his machete down on the ghoul's neck. "Why is no one ever around to see it when I do cool shit like that?" he said under his breath.

Dean continued down the hallway, mopping blood off of his face with the sleeve of his jacket, being careful not to brush his throbbing nose. He saw a metal staircase that he assumed led down to where they stored and prettied up the dead bodies - or in this case, where the ghouls prepared their dinner. He'd bet good money that there were at least a few of them down there.

Before Dean could even reach the staircase, the door burst open, and three ghouls - or at least he assumed they were ghouls, what with all of the gore splattered around their mouths - came out, looking less than pleased to see him.

Okay. So he kind of screwed the pooch on the stealth thing, but it didn't matter as long as Charlie and Cas got out alright. Dean grinned at the oncoming ghouls.

"Sorry guys, you're a little late. I already had a nice chat with the welcoming party," he said as he backed up towards the bodies of the other ghouls he'd already slain.

With a shout of "Kill him!" from the ghoul in the middle, the monsters launched themselves at him. He brought up his machete just in time to separate one of them from their head, but just as he finished off one, he was tackled to the ground by another one. The back of his head cracked against the wood floor, and he groaned as the ghoul's hand went around his throat and squeezed.

For the umpteenth time, Dean found himself wishing that he didn't need oxygen to live. From the position he was in, he wouldn't be able to properly swing the machete to behead the ghoul, so he held it horizontally and pressed it against the ghoul's jugular, pushing with all his might.

It was a race to see who would die first; would Dean suffocate before he was able to decapitate the ghoul?

Just as black threatened to overwhelm his vision, the ghoul's head rolled off and fell to the ground and his body collapsed on top of Dean. He pushed off the corpse and struggled to stand as he gasped for air. The remaining ghoul lunged at him, and Dean kicked him in the chest, sending him reeling backwards.

A swing of his own, and he beheaded the last ghoul. As the body thudded to the ground, he let out a sigh of relief. He steadied himself against the wall and massaged his bruised throat. After weeks of stagnancy, he was off of his game.

Dean heard a series of crashes from upstairs. With a grunt, he pushed himself away from the wall and made to head back to the main staircase with a mutter of, "Damn it, Cas."


	45. Ticket to Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the authoress finally gets to write a car chase scene, and a new member joins Team Free Will.

Cas crept up the stairs, careful to make sure that the weight of his feet didn't cause the steps to creak. When they were outside of the funeral home, he'd seen lights on in the windows of the second floor, so he was prepared to run into resistance as he searched for Charlie.

He realized as he reached the second floor that he actually had no idea what Charlie looked like, as he'd never met her before. Hopefully she would know who he was on sight, and vice versa.

He heard movement in a nearby room. He froze as he reached the second floor landing, tightening his grip on his angel blade. Luckily, the weapon could kill anything and everything, short of a Knight of Hell or an archangel, so it would work perfectly fine against a ghoul.

Cas pressed himself flat against the wall as he heard footsteps approaching down the hallway. He held his breath, trying to fade into the shadows. The ghoul passed so close to him that he was able to detect the scent of decaying meat on him. Cas darted out from his hiding place and swiftly speared the ghoul through the middle. He ripped out his angel blade, and the body fell to the ground.

He made his way carefully down the hallway, and light glowed ahead of him. A large dining room came into view. He ducked behind the doorframe, leaning out as much as he could to get a glimpse of the ghouls seated at the table inside. They hadn't noticed him, thankfully. There were seven of them at the table, and they appeared to be eating dinner. He didn't want to know where the meat on their plates had come from.

A large chandelier hung over the center of the table. Cas was outnumbered, that much was obvious. If he ran into a throng of ghouls like that, he might not make it out intact. They were certainly less intimidating than demons, but he was also used to fighting demons, as he'd been doing it for millions of years - ghouls, on the other hand, were a different story.

There was a steel panel on the opposite side of the hallway. He glanced at the chandelier, and saw that it was on a winch rope of some variety - most likely so they could lower it for cleaning. He flicked his eyes around the room, trying to find where the winch control was, but saw no source. Could the panel be what controlled it? He scurried to the other side of the hallway, careful not to be seen. Dropping that chandelier could be the distraction he needed to gain the upper hand.

He opened up the panel, and inside, their was a small dial labeled 'winch control' and a keypad to access it. Cas frowned. He had no idea how he could possibly bypass this. He knew nothing about electronics.

_Electronics... electricity... what if...?_

It was what Dean would call a long shot, but he had to try. He laid his palm over the keypad and closed his eyes. Ever since he'd performed the first trial, the presence of them was always under his skin, always able to be sensed. It was like a constant live circuit through his veins. He'd managed to avoid blowing any lamps this past week, but he was just now refining his ability not to accidentally destroy electric objects.

He focused on the feel of the electricity coursing through him, and then with effort, channeled it all into his palm. There was a rather spectacular burst of sparks, and suddenly, the light cut out in the next room and he heard a whirring as the rope was slacked. Then, there was a resounding crash as the chandelier came down on the table. A moment later, there were a series of screams.

Cas made his way into the room, stalking along the edges and trying to get a sense of who was where so he could attack. The dim, fading light that was cast through the windows was barely enough to illuminate the outlines of the other people in the room. However, he was confused by what he heard the ghouls saying.

"What the hell just happened?"

"The rope must've snapped."

"Ugh, someone go get the flashlights."

Ghouls, monsters that they were, would've immediately been on alert, wouldn't they? Experimentally, Cas lashed out with his angel blade, ripping open the sleeve of the nearest ghoul and leaving a shallow cut.

"What the - ouch!" the ghoul snapped, whirling around. His eyes widened. "Who the hell are you?"

The other eyes in the room all turned to Cas. None of them attacked, just stared at him in a mixture of confusion and horror. He was getting the distinct feeling that they weren't ghouls. But the one he killed in the hallway had been... this was puzzling.

"Um," he said dumbly, unsure of what to do in this situation.

"Call the police!" one of the humans shouted, an elderly woman. "He's got a damn sword!"

Without any better idea of what to do, Cas sprinted forward, leaping over the table and heading for the exit. Regardless of whether these were humans or ghouls, he still needed to get to Charlie.

He heard thundering footsteps behind him. He slammed the door between the next room and the dining room. He was in some kind of adjacent sitting room, and he quickly shoved an arm chair underneath the doorknob, then pushed a coffee table in front of the door as well. There was banging on the door as the humans tried to break through, but if they didn't have superhuman strength, it would take them awhile to break down the door.

Cas swung around. There - the linen closet. He quickly went to the door and jerked it open. Before he had a chance to speak, a machete was sailing towards his head. With a slight gasp of breath, he ducked just in time to avoid decapitation. He raised his angel blade in defense, backing away.

"Oh my God! Sorry, sorry, I thought you were one of the ghouls." A slim woman with bright red hair and large eyes lowered her machete in an apologetic gesture. "You're Cas, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am Castiel."

Charlie seemed very excited to see him. "Sorry, I couldn't really tell without the trench coat and backwards tie. Gosh, you're pretty, though!" She swung her head around. "Where's Dean?"

"Downstairs. You do realize that not all of the beings in this house are ghouls?"

"What? I thought the whole family was!"

"I've encountered one, but a large majority of them appear to be human," he informed her. "Do you know another way to get downstairs? We cannot go back the way we came."

"Why, what did you do?"

There was a crash as someone kicked the door rather forcefully. Some of the wooden door splintered. Much longer, and they would get in. Humans were obviously no match for him, even if he was one, but he wasn't about to go around slaughtering innocent people.

"My entrance may have been more dramatic than was strictly necessary. About that other way out..."

"The only way to and from the second and third floors are the stairs," Charlie told him. "How are we gonna get out?"

Cas glanced around the room, trying to think of alternatives. His eyes landed on the window. Obviously, after what happened at the demon nest in Boston, the last thing he we wanted to do was consider that as an option, but if it was the only way...

Cas went to the window and opened it up. He looked outside, barely able to see in the retreating light of the sunset. However, he was pleased to see a thick metal pipe leading from the roof, along the side of the window, and then down to the ground. "How well can you climb?"

"I was never that great with the rope thing in gym, if that's what you're asking."

"You'll have to be. This is the only way out." Cas climbed onto the windowsill and sheathed his machete. He reached out and grabbed the pipe, which was slick from the recent rain. Wonderful. Wrapping his hands tightly around the pipe, he swung out his legs and drove his sneakers into the brick wall, fighting for purchase on the damp surface. He climbed a few feet down, then dropped the remaining seven feet to the alley that ran along the left side of the house.

The landing jarred his ankles, but other than that, he was perfectly fine. "Hurry, Charlie!" he called up.

Charlie's head poked out of the window. "Would this be a bad time for me to tell you that I'm afraid of heights?" she asked waveringly.

He heard sirens in the distance. Damn it. "An incredibly bad time! GO!"

Charlie let out a little shriek before launching her hands out and grabbing the pole. She practically jumped from the window, forgoing the help of the wall, and she slid down the pole quickly. Her momentum was slow enough that she wasn't hurt, however, and once she was on the ground next to him, he grabbed her wrist and began running.

"Quick! The Impala is parked in the back."

"What about Dean?" she asked. Just at that moment, he heard gun shots from within the house. It sounded like a shotgun blast. Cas prayed silently that Dean was alright. They dashed along the perimeter of the fence, feet pounding the wet pavement. Just as they skidded around the corner, the sliding glass door of the patio shattered into a thousand pieces as Dean crashed through it and landed hard on the pavement.

"Dean!" Cas yelled his friend's name. Dean scrambled up, his shoulder bloody and a large gash across his forehead.

"Some of 'em are human; all of 'em are pissed!" Dean yelled. Another shotgun fired off, and part of the door frame was taken out. Dean ducked down as he raced to the fence. He grabbed the top and vaulted over it, landing messily on the ground on the other side.

"Get to the car!" Cas pushed Charlie towards the Impala. He then went to Dean and helped him off of the ground. Police cars roared down the alley, coming to a halting stop barely ten feet from them. Once Dean was on his feet, the two of them sprinted to the Impala. Dean threw himself into the front seat, and Cas hadn't even fully gotten into the car when he started up the engine.

Cas closed the passenger side door just as Dean slammed his foot into the gas pedal. "Everybody ready for a little _Dukes of Hazard_ action?" he called before tearing off down the street.

"Stop! Lawrence PD!" the police shouted over the intercom in their cruiser.

"Floor it, Bo!" Charlie said, and Dean obeyed. Castiel was grateful that Dean had shown him the TV show that the two of them were currently referencing, or else he would've been very confused. The Impala roared down the street, pushing eighty, and the two police cruisers followed close behind them, sirens whirring.

"Shit," Dean cursed as he made a wickedly sharp turn, nearly causing them to spin out. The Impala was not made for this; the car was twice the length of the cruisers and fifty years older. He wasn't sure that they would be able to outrun the police officers. "What the hell, Charlie? Some of them weren't even ghouls!"

"I thought they all were! I hacked the security footage and saw five of them chowing down on some poor guy down in the morgue - still alive, btw - and I just assumed that it was some creepy ghoul family!"

"Rule number one of hunting: don't assume anything," Dean said through gritted teeth as he drove over the curb and into a parking lot outside of a 7-11. He weaved between parked cars before putting on a burst of speed and driving straight through a wooden and fence and into someone's backyard. All of the houses on this block had some kind of fence around the property. Dean seemed to decide it was his mission to run them all down.

"Dean, there's no way we're going to be able to lose them," Charlie said. "The Impala doesn't stand a chance."

Dean patted the dashboard as he plowed through four more backyards, then made a squealing turn onto one of the streets that led to the outskirts of Lawrence. "She didn't mean it, Baby."

"You have a problem," Charlie said, glancing back at the police cruisers behind them. Three more cars had joined the pursuit. "Cas, can't you just, you know, magic us out of here? Actually, why didn't you do that in the first place?"

"Long story short: Cas isn't an angel anymore."

"What?!" Charlie burst out. "Did you get cut off from Heaven again?" Charlie asked, directing the question at Castiel.

"All of the angels fell, and the Scribe of God stole my Grace from me. I am now fully human," Cas explained. "Should we call Crowley?"

"And what, have him blow all of the cops on us straight to Hell? Not happening." They were coming up on a bridge. It was blocked off, an 'under construction' sign barring their way. A six foot section of the bridge was missing, and the second half of the bridge was bent so that it was several feet below the other. Cas had an inkling suspicion of what Dean was about to do.

"Dean," he said, trying to catch Dean's attention. The hunter didn't respond. "Dean, this is not wise."

"The best ideas never are," Dean replied before pushing the Impala up to ninety. "Later, suckers!"

They crashed through the saw horse barrier that cordoned off the bridge, flying straight through the sign that was meant to warn them away. They raced down the bridge, the police officers following hot on their tail. However, they skidded to a halt just short of the area where the bridge was torn apart.

Dean did not.

The Impala roared off the edge of the bridge and went airborne. Cas gripped the dashboard for dear life, his heart beating erratically in his chest as they took off. Charlie's hands latched onto his and Dean's shoulders. The entire car shook as the Impala crashed back to Earth, leaving the police cruisers in the dust. Dean winced.

"I don't even want to know what that just did to the undercarriage," he said with a grimace. Castiel checked the side mirror, and he saw that the police officers had taken off in an attempt to find an alternate route to them, as they didn't seem inclined to brave the bridge. Dean sped on after the bridge, taking every turn he could and driving through back alleys and parking lots. The police sirens went from a blare down to a distant, dull roar.

"I think we actually got away from them," Charlie said breathlessly as Dean pulled onto the highway that would lead them back to Lebanon. "It's like _Grand Theft Auto_ meets _Fallout_ \- ghouls and car chases.

"I don't know what you just said, but if it translates to something like, 'wow, Dean, thank you for saving my life at the risk of your wellbeing and more importantly, your car,' then amen, sister."

"That was reckless," Cas pointed out as they melded into traffic. "You could've killed us all."

"Would you rather be sitting in jail, right now?" Dean asked, not seeming troubled. "You don't wanna know what they do to guys like you in prison, Cas."

No, he was quite sure he didn't. "The Impala is a very noticeable car. It's likely that the police will still catch up with us."

"Sammy and I stuck hex bags in Baby awhile ago. You know, the whole 'this isn't the Impala you're looking for' shtick. They're old, but hopefully they'll still do the trick," Dean explained. "But we do have a problem."

"Don't you always?" Charlie asked. "What's wrong?"

"The cops back there saw my face. So did all of the folks in the funeral home," Dean told them, expression troubled. "My mug's a little more famous than I'd like. Chances are, they made me. Which means that my face is gonna be plastered over every TV in the country. I can see the headline now..." He sighed heavily. "Famous serial killer Dean Winchester, back from the dead!"

"Again," Charlie chimed. "How many times have you been resurrected at this point?"

"Uh, twice? Three times? I don't know, I kind of lost count," Dean said. "If I had trouble keeping on the down low before, it's gonna be a real bitch, now."

"We will deal with whatever comes our way," Castiel said. "We have no choice."

Dean grunted something that sounded like agreement. "No kidding. I guess there's no point in worrying about it. It's not like we could just leave you there."

"Thanks for the rescue, by the way. Also, sorry for the misinformation," Charlie told them.

"Yeah, well, hunting rule number two: don't hunt alone," Dean informed her. "You could've gotten yourself killed, Charlie."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you."

"I mean it. I don't want you doing any more solo hunts, you hear me?"

"Who am I supposed to hunt with?" Charlie asked, and Cas detected an edge in her voice. "I'm not exactly 'in' the hunting community, and let's face it, you guys are chauvinists. The only contacts I have that I didn't have to burn after the whole Dick Roman disaster are you and Sam."

Dean went silent for a few minutes as they drove. The sun sank below the horizon, and night set on Kansas. Cas was almost lulled to sleep by the thrum of the Impala's engine and the continuous passing of headlights outside of the window. He was thoroughly exhausted from the events of the day.

"Hunt with us," Dean said at length, surprising both Cas and Charlie.

Cas watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't against the idea of working with Charlie, as Dean had spoken highly of her and it would most likely keep her safe, but it didn't seem like something Dean would do. He'd seemed even reluctant to hunt with Cas, at first. Dean was so accustomed to working with just Sam, that anything else was a large step out of his comfort zone.

"Are you serious?" Charlie asked, sitting up straight. "You want _me_ along for the ride? I'm a total newbie."

"Gotta learn somehow. Sam's doing his Eden hunt thing with Crowley and Bobby, so Cas and I don't have shit to do until a certain prophet of the Lord we know decodes the next of the angel trials that Cas is doing," Dean said. Obviously Charlie would need to be filled in more thoroughly later. "Cas is still learning the ropes of doing this gig without mojo. Maybe I can teach you both a thing or two."

"So, what, we're the new golden trio? Just like that?" Charlie asked.

"As long as Cas is okay with it, yeah." He and Cas's eyes met. Castiel couldn't find any reason to protest Charlie working with them on any cases they caught, though he had to admit that he did enjoy he and Dean being a duo. The two of them were closer now than ever before, because of their current dynamic. Hopefully Charlie joining them wouldn't affect that.

"I have no issue with it," Cas responded.

"There you go," Dean said, glancing at Charlie in the rear view mirror. "Welcome to the team."

Charlie grinned at the both of them.


	46. Red Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the FBI have to update their files on Dean once more, and Crowley has a crush.

"Wake the hell up, boy," a gruff voice roused Sam from his sleep. "Your brother got himself into trouble again."

Sam groaned as his eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the bright light streaming in from the outside. "What?" he grumbled, flipping over onto his back to look at Bobby, who was standing over him with a sour expression. "What did Dean do?"

"Just get up and come look at this." Bobby went out into the living room, and Sam followed behind him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The TV in the living room was on. Bobby had the channel set on CNN. Sam was grateful that they could still get American television networks in Qatar. Bobby sat down on the couch and watched Sam expectantly as he read the headline and listened to the female anchor's report.

_"This evening, legendary serial killer Dean Winchester, who was previously presumed dead after an attempted escape in Ankeny, Iowa several years ago, was spotted in his home town of Lawrence, Kansas by local police. Winchester was accompanied by an as of yet unidentified young woman and James Novak, an Illinois native who was reported missing in September of 2008 and is wanted under suspicion of murder for several strings of deaths in 2012. They were seen exiting Devlin Funeral Home in downtown Lawrence, which they'd broken into and then proceeded to murder six of the residents. Police were called after the family discovered Novak on the second floor of the funeral home. Winchester, Novak, and the unidentified woman were chased through Lawrence by the police, but after driving through a dangerous construction zone, they were able to evade police capture."_

"What the hell happened?" Sam asked. "Did you call Dean?"

"I was waiting for you," Bobby replied. He tossed Sam his cell phone. Sam quickly dialed Dean's number. After two rings, his brother picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Dean Winchester, legendary serial killer who apparently rose from the dead _again_ ," Sam greeted stiffly as he put the phone on speaker. "What did you do!?"

"Hi, Sam!" a familiar voice piped up on the other end.

Sam's brow furrowed. "Is that Charlie?"

"Yeah," Dean said. Huh. Well, that explained who the unidentified woman was. "Guess they're already talking about us on the news, huh?"

"You're the only thing on the news," Bobby said. "I'm hoping the people you murdered weren't actually people?"

"Ghouls," Dean provided. "But we, uh, ran into a few snags."

"Some of the ghouls were not actually ghouls, but average humans." That was Cas. "It complicated matters."

"The best I can figure it, the ghouls were working on eating and replacing each member of the family. Charlie assumed that they were all already ghoulified, but they weren't even halfway done. Once we found out that some of 'em were human, we had to make a break for it. So, yeah, I've been made."

"It's my fault, really," Charlie said, and he could hear remorse in her voice. "I dragged Dean and Cas into it."

"And what's the moral of the story, Charlie?" Dean asked in a patronizing tone.

"Don't hunt alone," Charlie replied sheepishly.

"We have decided that it would be best if we accompanied Charlie on any hunt she chooses to pursue from this point on," Cas said.

"Yep. She's coming with us," Dean tacked on.

"She's gonna hunt with you guys?" Sam asked, surprised. "Does she get what she's signing up for?"

"Read the books," Charlie chimed.

"Hold on... your name's Charlie?" Bobby asked.

"If by name you mean the alias that I choose to go by, then yeah, that's my name," she answered.

"Is she the one who worked for Dick?" he inquired. "The one that I saved when I went all vengeful spirit?"

"Wait, what?" Charlie asked.

"Did we forget to tell her that?" Dean asked, and Sam assumed the question was directed at him.

"Apparently." Sam sighed. "Charlie, remember the 'good luck charm' Dean and I gave you before we sent you into RRE?"

"Considering it was the worst good luck charm ever? Yeah, I remember."

"Well, uh, Bobby was dead at the time, and-"

"My spirit was attached to the flask," Bobby said. "They gave it to you so I could protect you if something went wrong - which it did."

"You're the one who kept Dick from eating me?" Charlie asked.

"That was all Bobby," Dean said. "He was a pretty badass ghost, honestly."

"Wow," Charlie said, seeming somewhat awed. "Well... thanks, Bobby. You totally saved my life. It's awesome to talk to you, by the way. You were always my favorite recurring character - sorry Cas, but you took a little longer to warm up to."

"I take no offense to that. Mainly because I have no idea what you're referring to."

Bobby shot Sam a confused look. He mouthed, "Chuck's books." Bobby nodded in understanding.

"It's no problem. Just don't get yourself killed hunting with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They're not exactly good luck charms themselves," Bobby said.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bobby."

"That's what I'm here for," he responded.

"You've got to be careful, guys. The whole country's going to be looking for you," Sam advised.

"We've done this song and dance before, Sam," Dean said, seeming nonplussed. "We'll be fine."

"I hope you're right."

* * *

_One month later..._

Crowley was really beginning to hate sand.

Two bloody months of searching for Eden, and without fail, that seemed to be all he would find no matter where he searched. Bobby and Sam were in the process of working their way through the extensive resources available to them in Doha, but no matter how many suggestions they gave to him as to where to search, he came up empty every time. He had never been gifted with patience, so he was finding himself more and more frustrated by their fruitless hunt.

Having to stop every few days and take a rest was infuriating as well. If he were still on the throne, teleporting would have never depleted his power reserves enough to require that he take a break. Though, he had to admit, the best times of the past two months were when he was at the hotel with Sam and Bobby. Mostly Sam, as Bobby tended to go to the libraries to search for more tomes on Eden while Sam stayed at the hotel and read the books the two hunters had already checked out.

Since the night he'd broken down in front of Sam, the two of them had grown significantly closer. Almost to the point where Crowley was uncomfortable. He had kept everyone at a few leagues distance for three hundred years, not allowing anyone to get even remotely near him. Close enough to hug was close enough to stab in the back, after all. He'd learned that much from Castiel, and he and Sam were infinitely closer than he'd ever been with the angel of Thursday.

The more time he spent around Sam, however, the more he couldn't help but grow to genuinely like him. Sam was intelligent, far more so than the people (demons) he was used to being around. They both liked Lovecraft and Bowie, and after a bit of prodding, Sam had even grown fond of _Band of Brothers_. He could talk to Sam without having to censor himself in any regard, because he didn't have to worry about Sam using anything he said against him or being scared by what he was really thinking.

Sam had known him at his worst - hated him at the time, but that didn't seem to matter anymore - so he didn't have to be concerned that his true colors would show through, because Sam was already intimately familiar with his darker side. The fact that he could sit on the couch with Sam, his head resting on Sam's leg and just talking with him while the hunter flipped through his newest literal acquisition, it was something he privately treasured.

Whenever his dwindling energy forced him to return to Doha, it was never questioned that Crowley would sleep in Sam's bed. He didn't even know if Bobby was aware of it, and frankly, he didn't care. Often times he would sleep during the day and then be gone by the time Sam finally went to bed at two or three in the morning, but there were a few times when he found himself dozing beside the hunter.

Thankfully, he hadn't had anymore night terrors that were vivid enough to wake Sam. He tried not to think about how deep into his psyche Sam had seen that night, or anything that transpired afterwards. If anyone had told him a few months ago that he would end up sobbing in the arms of a Winchester, he would've laughed in their face. Then killed them. Not necessarily in that order.

He'd never allowed himself to be that vulnerable. Hell, he'd never been all that vulnerable to begin with. _Ever_. Before the night that Sam attempted to cure him, there was no heart for him to accidentally let show. Now that he had one, it seemed like he spent a healthy amount of time hiding it. Although Sam saw more than anyone else, he still had to keep up his walls, because certain feelings would most certainly not sit well with Sam. Thoughts of Sam were not always purely platonic and/or heterosexual.

Okay, they were very rarely platonic and _never_ heterosexual. He'd always found Sam attractive in an objective way, but the longer he was around the blasted Moose, the more he found himself drawn to him. He had a bloody _crush_ on him. It was harmless, relatively speaking. Or rather, harmless for Sam. Not so harmless for Crowley, as it was a source of endless irritation, especially when in close proximity to Sam. It was a never-ending feat of self-control that he could resist the urge to pin the clueless giant down and properly ravish him.

Alas. Unlike his brother, he was fairly sure that Sam was only interested in women. Although he was technically a genderless cloud of smoke, he still identified as male. Even if he were in a female vessel, he would still feel that way. There was really nothing for it.

But that didn't mean he couldn't press the boundaries every once in awhile.

Crowley could generally lay his head in Sam's lap or use him as a foot rest without earning much protest from the Winchester. It had actually almost become a habit between the two of them. There was generally very little space between them at any given time, if they were in the same room, or even the same bed. He'd somehow managed to convince Sam that he had an unfortunate habit of 'sleep cuddling', in which he tended to gravitate towards whoever he happened to be sharing a bed with.

Sam grumbled about it a bit, but he never pushed him off when Crowley 'accidentally' rolled over in the middle of the night and laid his head on the hunter's chest.

And, of course, Sam was still a cuddly drunk.

Also, Crowley's discovery that the Moose liked his hair touched had led to all sorts of interesting things. Whenever Sam annoyed him, all he had to do was issue a swift tug to his ridiculously long locks, and the lumberjack blushed like a schoolgirl and immediately stopped whatever he was doing and gave him the death glare to end all death glares.

Unrequited amorous feelings and his own wariness of personal relationships aside, he quite liked what had developed between he and Sam. It made him... well, he couldn't really put a word to it, other than _happy_ , which didn't seem to quite cover it. In his private moments, he was still haunted by dark thoughts and darker flashes of his past that burned in his chest like acid, but when he was with Sam...

Somehow, Sam managed to block the memories out.

Sam, however, was turning out to be a rather nagging wife. Ever since their discovery that Anthriel and the rest of the Bible Brigade had been watching them this entire time, the hunter had been surprisingly concerned with his safety. When he was away from Doha, he was on a strict regiment of texts and calls. Sam didn't trust the angels not to hunt him down and take him out, and he apparently didn't trust Crowley to dispatch them if such a thing occurred.

Angels weren't easy to fight, but he could do it. He certainly wouldn't be brought down by some uppity feather duster.

The angels were getting themselves in deeper and deeper into the war. London fell a few weeks ago, now fully possessed by the demons. They'd moved onto Glasgow, where the angels were currently putting up the defensive. He was just grateful for the fact that right now, they weren't going at each other in his general vicinity. Getting caught in the crossfire of the war was certainly not on his to-do list, even if he was trying to stop it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting his disparaging thoughts as he plodded through yet another sand dune. It was a lucky thing he couldn't stroke out from the heat, or he'd already be down for the count. He checked his inbox - another text from Sam, unsurprisingly.

_"Where are you?"_

Crowley smirked, quickly tapping out a message to Moose. " _Same place I was last time you asked, dearest."_

He hit send, then pocketed the phone. He was about done searching this particular part of the An-Nafud desert. He'd seen no signs of Eden, regardless of what Bobby's current lead said, and he thought it would be pointless to continue hunting around this area.

He and Bobby's relationship had actually improved significantly as well. The old hunter no longer seemed outwardly contemptuous toward him. They'd fallen back into their old repertoire of sniping at each other and in general acting like two incurably grumpy old men. It was all very nostalgic.

As Crowley crested another dune, he was surprised by what he found on the other side: three people. After a quick examination of them on the higher planes, he realized they were demons. Wonderful.

"So, the rumors are true, huh, Crowley?" the demon in the center asked. He knew his true face - he used to be one of his bruisers. "Searching for the Garden of Eden while Abaddon takes over your kingdom... some king you are."

Now, this was a problem. How the hell had they found out where he was, or what he was doing, for that matter? "Short-sighted, ignorant prats that you are, I wouldn't expect you to look at the bigger picture."

"Watch your mouth, Crowley," the demon on the right said, an angel blade dropping into his hand. "We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way."

"I'm afraid the hard way is going to be the only way out for you, my darlings." Crowley's angel blade dropped in his hand, and a second later, he was behind the demon who was armed similarly. He drove his blade up into the demon's chest, killing him almost instantly. He took his weapon when it dropped from his lifeless hand. Dual wielding the angel blades, he sliced the middle demon to ribbons. This all happened within a span of a few seconds.

The third demon backed away, looking terrified. Crowley dropped his extra angel blade, then grabbed the other demon by the front of his shirt and pulled him close. "I want you to give Abaddon a message for me," he growled, his eyes flashing Crossroads red. Much to his pleasure, the other demon seemed ready to piss himself. "Tell her that the next time she wants me dead, she better send a fucking _army,_ because anything less will just be a few minutes of cheap entertainment for me..." He put his mouth next to the demon's ear. " _Tell her that I'm coming for her_. Tell her that she best get her affairs in order, because I am going to burn a true vision of horror into that empty little head of hers. I'm going to make her regret the day she dared to call herself Queen."

He shoved the demon away, raising his hand. _"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversari..."_ he rattled off the exorcism, and the demon's black essence was spat out in a cloud of noxious smoke. It curled off into the air and then flew off to the east, leaving Crowley standing alone. He wiped the side of his face, and his sleeve came back bloody.

Perhaps sending such an aggressive message Abaddon's way wasn't the wisest plan, but he was getting sick of that whore and her meddling. She'd taken everything from him, and she thought a few demon hit men were enough to take him down? Ha! But really, how had she even known where to find him-

Crowley froze, realizing that if Abaddon's men knew where he was, they would know where Sam and Bobby were. Without a second's hesitation, Crowley thought of Sam, and he was gone.

* * *

Sam sat at his desk in his hotel room, pouring over an old book on Assyrian civilization, jotting down any pertinent information he found. His phone was mere inches from his hand. Although he loathed admitting it, he'd gotten a little anal about keeping track of Crowley and making sure that he took adequate measures to protect himself from the angels.

He'd honestly been surprised by how disturbed he'd been by the idea of angels watching them – especially watching Crowley. He or Dean should've thought to get Bobby and Cas warded. They'd left themselves open for attack, and any situation where Crowley was near an angel other than Gabriel was something he found terrifying. Wings or not, an angel just had to touch Crowley in order to kill him.

Naturally, Crowley complained about the constant check-ins and Sam's paranoia, but he really didn't care if he annoyed the demon with his overprotective behavior. He would do whatever it took to keep Crowley safe while he hunted for Eden.

He wished that they could choose not to work with Anthriel, but once Kevin decoded the second trial, he imagined that it would benefit them to have an angel on their side – an angel other than Gabriel, that is. He didn't trust Gabriel to be there when they needed him to be – everything with Gabriel came with a price, and sometimes it was a price that they couldn't afford. If Crowley hadn't possessed him, Gabriel's little detour with Dean and Cas would've cost him his life when he'd been dying post third trial.

They needed as many allies as they could get at the moment. Not to mention, it would be a hell of a lot easier to win the war if they weren't fighting the angels, too. Still, that didn't mean that he had to like the fact that they were working with the Heavenly Host.

Sam sighed, tapping out a quick text message to Crowley.

_"Where are you?"_

The demon responded inhumanly fast, just as always. _"Same place I was the last time you asked, dearest."_

He was getting pretty sick of the nagging wife jokes. Sam was distracted from replying by a knock on the door of their hotel room. He rose from his desk and went into the living room, where Bobby was sitting on the couch, a map of the Fertile Crescent spread out on his lap. The older hunter didn't seem inclined to answer the door, so Sam went and opened it himself.

A waiter stood outside, holding a covered dish in his hand. "Room service," he chimed in a Middle Eastern accent. Sam stepped aside and allowed the man to enter with the tray of food.

"I didn't order room service," Sam said.

"I did," Bobby grunted. "If we're getting an all expenses paid vacation, I'm taking advantage of it."

Instead of depositing the meal on the table like Sam expected, the waiter stood stock still in the center of the living room.

"You just gonna stand there and look pretty, or what?" Bobby grumbled.

The waiter looked down at his feet somewhat despairingly. "Are you kidding me?" the waiter's voice suddenly lost the accent. "How paranoid are you sons of bitches?"

Bobby jumped up from the couch, whipping out Ruby's knife. Sam backed away from the waiter, perplexed. "What am I missing?" he asked.

"Remember a few weeks ago when you were at the library all day, and I stayed here?"

"Yes…?"

"Peeled up the carpet and devil-trapped the underneath of it," Bobby explained shortly. Sam couldn't help but smile.

"Bobby, you're awesome."

"It's been said." Bobby pointed Ruby's knife at the demon. "What's your game?"

"What do you think it is, jackass? The Queen's sent out a strict order: anyone who collaborates with Crowley must die. Plus, you're a Winchester," the demon told them, gesturing at Sam. "It's just a given that we're supposed to kill you."

"How long have you been stalking us for, huh?" Bobby demanded.

"Um, listen, can we just skip to the part where you kill me? I'm really not interested in a Q&A session."

Bobby shot Sam a look. "Sam?"

"On it."

Sam returned to his room and fumbled through his duffel bag for a few moments until he found what he was looking for: their demon trapping handcuffs.

Sam reentered the living room. "Got them."

"Oh, what, are we doing a BDSM party? You're really not my type, Winchester."

"Sorry, but we ain't asking," Bobby said, taking the handcuffs from Sam. Bobby moved swiftly, tackling the demon into the ground and driving his knee into his back. The plate clattered from the demon's hand, and what appeared to be a sandwich spilled out. There was a brief struggle, but Bobby was able to snap the handcuffs over the demon's wrists.

Bobby rose, and the demon glared up at him, teeth bared. "That felt good," Bobby admitted. "Been too long."

"Fuck you," the demon spat. "I'm not telling you inbred hillbillies anything."

"I take offense to that," Bobby said before tossing Sam Ruby's knife. "And we'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

"There's nothing you can do to me that's worse than what Abaddon will do to me if she finds out that I talked to you two."

"I wouldn't count on that," Sam said, and he made a move to bring the knife up to the demon's throat, but he stopped when he suddenly felt Crowley's presence behind him.

Sam whirled around to see Crowley, who was looking harried. There was blood splattered across the side of his face, and he seemed ready for a fight. His eyes immediately went to the demon on the ground. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Killian? What the devil are you doing here?" Crowley asked, his voice even rougher than usual.

"Trying to kill us," Bobby informed him.

 _"Are you alright?"_ Sam asked over their link. He'd only spoken to Crowley a few minutes ago, what could have happened to him in such a short span of time?

 _"Fine,"_ the demon responded curtly. "Fell in with Abaddon, did you? Should've expected it, I suppose. You always were a spineless little-"

Killian cut Crowley off. "Your kingdom's gone, Crowley. You're public enemy number one, and every demon worth their salt is gunning for you. No one's stupid enough to side with you – why would they? Word on the street is that you're barely a demon at all anymore."

Sam felt rage bubble over his connection to Crowley. In a flash, Crowley was in front of Killian, dragging him up by the collar. "I'll show you how much of a demon I am, _boy_ ," Crowley growled, dropping his angel blade out of his sleeve and into his waiting hand.

"Don't-"

"Crowley, no-!"

Crowley either didn't hear their shouts of protest, or chose to ignore them. He stabbed the angel blade into Killian's sternum and twisted sharply. Orange lightning sparked underneath his skin, and he gasped in pain.

Crowley jerked out his angel blade, letting Killian's body collapse into a heap on the ground, a pool of blood forming steadily around it.

"We could've shaken him down for information!" Sam snapped, both irritated and surprised by Crowley's lack of control. "We need to know how he found out where we are!"

"We don't have time to interrogate him. I was just ambushed by a group of demons in the An-Nafud. They know what we're doing, and they know where we are. I expect there'll be a veritable army after us any second. We have to go _now_. Pack your trash."

"How could they possibly know where we are? Or about Eden? Angels tracking us, okay, but how could demons pull that off?"

"We'll worry about it later," Crowley said. He made to step towards Sam, but he was halted by an invisible force. Sam had forgotten that Crowley could get stuck in a devil's trap just as easily as any other demon. "Bollocks! Let me out of here!"

"Bobby, let him out – I'll grab our stuff," Sam said before hurrying off to his room. As he packed his things, he spoke with Crowley in his head. _"We have a leak somewhere. We have to figure out what happened."_

 _"I have an idea,"_ Crowley hissed, still practically vibrating with anger. _"I told you about Laharl, yes? My faithful pet?"_

_"Yeah, I remember him."_

_"Yes. Well, I may have made a slight oversight."_

_"You don't think-"_

_"Who else, Sam?"_

_"What are we going to do?"_

_"Run."_

_"To where?"_

_"Riyadh. Capital of Saudi Arabia. I can call in a few lingering favors, pay only in cash... get us a place where hopefully we won't be tracked back to."_

_"I'm calling Dean."_

_"Don't."_

_"What? Why?"_

_"Because! What if someone's tapped our phones? Once we're settled, I'll go back to America and tell them what's happened in person. We can't take any risks right now. Are you bloody well finished? We need to leave."_

In due time, both Sam and Bobby were packed. Crowley looked down at Killian's corpse with a frown. "I somehow doubt I'll be getting the security deposit back for this place," he admitted before putting a hand on both of their shoulders.

In a blink, the three of them disappeared.


	47. Addicted to Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Laharl gets an all-expenses paid trip to the rack, and Sam and Crowley drink cocktails and talk about their feelings.

It had been too long since Crowley had done this.

It felt simultaneously like a welcome home and a unique torture of its own. He hadn't wanted to do this... no, not at all. Even now, as he sliced into the flesh of the demon underneath him, it took all he had to keep his hands from shaking violently. He was also preoccupied by the task of fighting back the bile building in his throat. The world seemed to spin around him, and his stomach was clenched into a tight knot. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, painfully colliding with his vessel's rib cage every few seconds. He felt like he was going to faint.

If he didn't need answers, he wouldn't be doing it.

It used to come so naturally to him, but no longer. He could still see the weak points as plain as day, knew how each snick and slice of the blade would affect his victim. He knew what nerves to prod and he knew where it would hurt the most, what would bleed more and what would take the longest to heal... for not being a human, he was stunningly intimate with the layout of the human body. But still, even though he knew the science of torture so well, his every fiber was rebelling against it.

Well... _almost_ every fiber. He wasn't fully cured, after all. He could still feel the thrill, deep inside of him, and if anything, that made it all the worse. To know that there was still that consuming darkness within him, the darkness that he would never truly be able to escape. He was still a demon, and this was still his stock and trade. No amount of Sam's blood could change that. He'd been trying to be better, he really had... but regardless of what he did, it didn't change the fact of what he was at an existential level.

Simply put... he was damned.

"Tell me what you told Abaddon."

"I - AHHHH! I d-didn't tell her anything, I told you-"

_"Don't lie to me, Laharl."_

It hadn't been easy to convert Laharl's safe house in Boise into a proper torture chamber, but with a little interior decorating and elbow grease, Crowley had managed to make himself a barebones lab, as it were. He had the demon strapped down to a cot in the center of a confining devil's trap, stripped bare and spread out to give him better access to the demon's every nook and cranny.

He had a small cart next to him, stocked with everything he would need. He was making sure to skirt the outside of the devil's trap, to ensure that he wouldn't be caught inside. Having to call Dean and Castiel all the way to Idaho to let him out would be all manner of embarrassing.

"What's next on the menu, hmm? Would you prefer holy water, or maybe a bit of holy oil...? I've always wanted to see what effect that might have on a demon."

"Boss," Laharl gasped, his voice hoarse from hours of screaming. "Please. God. _Please_. I didn't tell her _anything_!"

"God can't help you now," Crowley retorted lowly, placing the length of his angel blade against Laharl's neck. "Do you really expect me to believe that it wasn't you? Who else would it be? You said it yourself... fear is power. Abaddon certainly has the rest of the demons scared shitless. Why not you as well?" He dug in the angel blade, slicing it across the other demon's collar.

"Because I'm loyal to _you!"_ Laharl screamed, pinching his eyes shut as Crowley began carving whimsical patterns across the demon's upper chest. "Jesus... _fuck_..."

This wasn't going anywhere. He'd been at it for hours, and in spite of his inhibitions about picking up the torturer's knife again, he was still good at what he did. He was still, quite undeniably, the best. Yet somehow, he was getting absolutely nothing out of Laharl. Either the demon had some hidden resilience he hadn't known about, or he was actually telling the truth. He wasn't terribly inclined to believe the latter.

Because if not Laharl... then who?

He dropped his blood-stained angel blade on his cart with a clatter. He cracked his neck, slipping off his apron and depositing it on the kitchen table of Laharl's modest hovel. He turned back to the other demon. "I've heard tell of this little trick that Abaddon can do... she can get the truth out of people by jamming a bit of the good stuff down their throats... now, I'm no Knight of Hell, but the principal's the same, right?"

He turned to Laharl, who looked terrified. His torso was a disaster, carved up like a damn Christmas ham. The demon's meat suit had really just seen better days. He approached Laharl, rolling up his sleeves. He leaned over the demon. "If you won't tell me the truth, then I'll just have to find it myself, won't I?"

"Crowley, don't-"

Crowley held up a finger, promptly silencing him. "You had your chance to speak, darling. Now it's my turn." He fisted a hand in Laharl's short hair, jerking his head back. He pressed his mouth roughly against Laharl's, prying apart the demon's lips. He detached his essence from his vessel, breathing his smoke down Laharl's throat. He was disoriented as his chosen body fell to the side and his own smoke collided with Laharl's.

Regardless of whether he had the extra juice provided by the souls of Hell, he was still a Crossroads demon - the Crossroads king - and he was significantly more powerful than Laharl, who was only a black-eyed demon. After a brief struggle, Crowley was able to subdue Laharl and take over his meat suit, which was currently aching like a bitch, for obvious reasons.

Crowley took a deep breath, then began searching through the demon's memories of the last few months, ever since Abaddon took Hell for herself. He kept expecting to find the moment where Laharl had switched sides and fed the information about Eden to Abaddon, but he saw Laharl doing only what he had been instructed to do: monitor and report back.

By the time Crowley reached Laharl's memories of the past few days, he knew... Laharl hadn't betrayed him.

He exited the other demon's meat suit immediately, bursting out of Laharl's mouth and storming back towards his own body. In a few moments, he was properly in control of his usual vessel. He sat up, catching his breath. Laharl was gasping on the table.

"Well." Crowley rose, brushing off his suit. "I suppose I owe you an apology."

Laharl stared at him, outraged. "You fucking _think_ , Crowley!?"

Crowley sighed, snapping his fingers. Laharl's restraints disappeared, and the demon was fully dressed and healed instantaneously. He felt significantly drained by the action, but it was the least he owed Laharl, after having tortured him for hours for literally no reason whatsoever. He took his angel blade and stabbed it into the edge of the devil's trap, splitting the floor apart and rending the sigil enough that Laharl could pass over the line, which he did.

On one hand, this meant that Laharl was still faithful. On the other hand, this also put him back at square one - who the hell had betrayed them to Abaddon? It couldn't be one of Team Free Will, certainly not, and other than the six of them, the only ones who knew what they were up to were the angels, who had absolutely no reason to hand them over to their mortal enemies.

This was getting messier by the minute, and he was really beginning to hate it.

"I had to make sure you weren't the leak. You understand," Crowley said, sheathing his angel blade. Laharl glowered at him.

"Yeah. I understand, but how about next time, you just believe the only demon who's still in your corner?"

"But therein lies the question..." Crowley gave Laharl an appraising look. "Why _are_ you in my corner?"

"Haven't we already had this conversation, boss?" Laharl asked tiredly.

"I want to know the truth, Laharl. You could've gone to Abaddon with what you knew and gotten into her good graces - or as good as they get, anyway - with no trouble at all. Either you're very stupid or you have a reason for throwing all of your cards in with me."

"Would you believe me if I said I was just stupid?"

"No, I don't think that I would," Crowley told him. Laharl sighed heavily.

"Look, boss... I'm just goin' off of what I've seen, alright? Far as demons go, I'm pretty fresh-faced. Damned in '45, didn't crawl out of Hell until the eighties. But since I've been up top, I've seen you take out every single thing that got in the way of what you wanted. You wanted Hell? You gave the Winchesters what they needed to stop Lucifer, and then you took over. You wanted Purgatory? You got Purgatory. Not exactly the way you wanted, but still. You wanted Dick Roman dead? Look at that, Dick Roman's dead. You wanted the angel tablet... and now you've got it, you've got the prophet, and you've even got the Winchesters, all wrapped around your finger. You get what you want, no matter what, and if you want Abaddon and Xaphan dead? You're gonna find a way to take them down."

"You have that much faith in me, eh?"

"I told you. I'm just going off of what I've seen." Laharl shrugged. "Plus, when you do stop them - and damn, I bet you will - you're gonna go back to Hell and take over. And who's gonna be on top in the new regime?" Laharl flashed him a dangerous smile. "The one demon who stood by you even when everyone else turned their back on you."

"Ah, so it's power you're angling for," Crowley surmised. "Yes, that makes much more sense than blind loyalty. I can respect that. It's what I would do in your position." He exhaled, clapping Laharl on the shoulder. "Stay by my side, and I'll give you whatever position you want when Hell's mine again, I promise you that."

"You mind promising me that you're not gonna put me on the rack again? 'Cause honestly, I had enough of that shit in Hell."

"You have my word," Crowley said with a slight inclination of his head.

"Good. Well, while you're here, got any orders for me?"

"No. Keep doing what you're doing. Report when you can."

Laharl nodded his head briskly. "Got it."

"Happy trails." Crowley blinked out, leaving Laharl alone, and he returned to his newest safe house in Riyadh.

* * *

The new hotel that Crowley had settled them at was just as extravagant as the last, only this time, they were on the top floor of a skyscraper in the middle of Riyadh, towering hundreds of feet over most of the other buildings. And, of course, to cover their trail, Crowley paid with two large suitcases stuffed tight with bundles of cash. That way they couldn't be traced by Crowley's credit cards.

Sam found that he enjoyed doing his research in the cocktail lounge, which ran in a circle around the perimeter of the floor directly beneath them. The walls were entirely made of glass, and in places, the floor was as well, giving him a view of the impressive Riyadh skyline. He only went at night, however, when the place wasn't as crowded.

They'd been here for two days. Crowley had disappeared earlier, and he could feel the demon's intent – he was going after Laharl, whom they all assumed to be the leak that exposed them to Abaddon. Sam didn't know who else could have betrayed them. He, Dean, Cas, Bobby, Kevin, and Crowley had absolutely nothing to gain from telling Abaddon, so it obviously wasn't one of them. It really only left one option, unless the angels for some reason decided to sabotage themselves and tell Abaddon about the Eden hunt.

"My thoughts exactly."

Sam jumped at the sound of Crowley's voice across the table from him. He looked up from the dusty tome in his hands and met Crowley's eyes. The demon looked paler than usual, but other than that, he was fine.

"I hate it when you do that."

"I know." Crowley smirked at him. "Really, you're in a cocktail lounge, and you're drinking lemonade? I'm disappointed in you, Moose."

"I'm not really a cocktail kind of guy."

"We'll just have to change that." Crowley beckoned one of the waiters over and spoke to him in Arabic. Sam understood the language, but Crowley spoke too fast for him to grasp precisely what he was ordering for the two of them. The waiter disappeared with a respectful bow of his head, and Crowley's attention turned back to Sam. "I come bearing news."

"Good news?"

"I suppose it would depend on how you look at it," Crowley sighed. "Laharl isn't the leak."

"How do you know?"

"Well, besides the fact that I tortured him for hours and he stuck to the fact that he didn't do it? I ran a little science experiment on him – basically crammed myself down his throat and took over his vessel, flipped through his memories. He's been faithful to me, and only to me."

"You double-possessed him? Is that even possible?" Sam inquired with a furrowed brow.

"It is if you're the king, usurpation notwithstanding." Crowley crossed his legs, his expression somewhat sour. "But, now we have more questions than answers."

"That's generally how it works with us, Crowley," Sam told him. "Welcome to Team Free Will."

Crowley snorted in response. "Lucky me." He eyed Sam's book. "Found anything for me?"

"Yeah, I think-"

_"If you're going to tell me, tell me up here."_ Crowley tapped the side of his head. _"We don't know who could be listening in."_

_"You're getting way too paranoid."_

_"You wouldn't feel like that if Abaddon had sent twenty demons after you back in Doha, instead of just one."_

_"Fine,"_ Sam replied, exasperated. This wasn't going to look strange at all to the people at the tables around them, two men just staring into each other's eyes and not saying anything. _"There's a set of Assyrian ruins in the Rub' al Khali desert, a couple hundred miles from here. It was found in 1974, but every one of the archeologists mysteriously died within a week of finding it. Everyone else working on the dig site abandoned it, thinking it was cursed. They barely managed to touch the place. It's a better lead than most of the ones I've given you."_

_"It won't hurt to look,"_ Crowley responded. The waiter arrived with their drinks. Two cocktail glasses filled with ruby red liquid and paired with some kind of tropical fruit on the side. Crowley took them with a grin, and then offered one to Sam. "It'll change your life."

Sam accepted the drink with a grimace. "Somehow I doubt that."

Crowley merely smiled in response, then took a sip of his. Sam mirrored the demon, and he surprised when the flavor of the cocktail was actually quite good – fruity and refreshing, with the bitterness of the alcohol actually complimenting the flavor instead of detracting from it. "Wow."

"I told you, didn't I?"

The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence as they stared out over Riyadh, watching as the sun faded on the horizon. He truly never thought he'd feel so at ease in the presence of the King of Hell, but over the past two months they had been searching for Eden, things had just become so natural between the two of them, even the telepathy aspect of their relationship. Sometimes having Crowley in his head was frustrating, but he was getting better at blocking him out if he needed to.

He liked having Crowley around, though. He just kind of liked him period – friends with a demon, of course, that was typical of him. He always seemed to have a weakness for them, didn't he? Brady, Ruby, even Meg to a certain extent before she died, and now Crowley.

Of course, he was closer to Crowley than he'd ever been to the other demons that had tugged his strings during his lifetime. With the way they were connected, it was impossible not to be. Although he knew that on the surface it would appear foolish, he couldn't help but trust Crowley. Surely if there was anything left in the demon that had bad intentions for him, he would know. Crowley may have kept his mind closely guarded in most cases, but he still felt enough of the demon's thoughts and emotions when Crowley occasionally let him in.

He didn't think that Crowley was suddenly some kind of saint now – he wasn't that naïve – but he also believed that Crowley was loyal to him and wasn't going to do anything to hurt him, or by extension, Dean, Cas, and the others.

Sam had to admit, however, that he was really starting to miss Dean. Even with phone calls and occasional Skype sessions, it just wasn't enough. He wanted this Eden hunt over so they could find out what they needed to from Joshua and then he, Bobby, and Crowley could get the hell back home.

At least he knew that Dean was in good hands. For the past month that Dean, Cas, and Charlie had been hunting together, he hadn't been too worried about his brother's safety. Dean said that Charlie was damn good for being so new to the life, but she still made rookie mistakes every now and then, so it was good that Dean was along for the ride. He also said that Cas was learning the ropes faster than he ever imagined, and that he was proud of the ex-angel.

Sam was proud of Cas, too. Not many angels could deal with suddenly losing everything they'd ever been and come out of it as a decent, functioning human being. Cas was making the best of a terrible situation. It was nothing less than Sam expected of him.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a current of anxiety from Crowley, a sort of feeling that made his stomach twist unpleasantly. Crowley must have been too distracted to keep his walls up at the moment. He flicked his eyes away from the window and looked at Crowley. The lights of the city were reflected in his dark green eyes, which seemed distant and troubled.

"Crowley?"

The demon looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he answered, expression schooled to agree with his statement. Sam gave him what Dean always called his bitch-face.

"Come on. You know you can't lie to me."

Annoyed, Crowley rolled his eyes. "You're bloody aggravating, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever – what's going on with you? Shouldn't you be happy that Laharl didn't betray us?"

"Yes, that's all fine and well, except…" Crowley's jaw tightened, and he averted his eyes. "It doesn't feel right anymore," he said cryptically.

"What doesn't?"

"My, uh... craft, so to speak."

"Torture?"

"Yes," Crowley responded stiffly. "Nearly had a damn breakdown just trying to squeeze Laharl for what he knew. It..." Crowley pinned his tongue between his teeth, seeming to have trouble choosing his words. "I used to love it, honestly. Now, I can barely keep my hands from shaking when I'm behind the knife. And I can't help but wonder, not for the first time, if I'll even be able to run Hell when this is all over."

Sam blinked in surprise, unused to getting this much out of Crowley when he pressed the demon to talk about how he was feeling. He counted it as a success, regardless of the dark subject matter. "I don't really know what it takes to run Hell, but it's a little more than just torturing people, isn't it?"

"To run Hell properly - like me, _not_ like Abaddon - you have to be a businessman, above all. Which I am. The deals, the social game, the diplomacy and/or death threats, I can still do that. The third trial, it didn't erase my impeccable leadership skills, at the very least. But running Hell... it's _Hell_! You have to able to get your hands dirty, wade through a sea of blood here and there. You have to... you have to have the _stomach_ for it."

"Which basically translates into the fact that you can't run Hell if you have any humanity... which you do," Sam surmised. Crowley nodded, exhaling sharply through his nose.

"What am I supposed to do if I can't be king? What is the point of me, exactly, if I can't rule my own kingdom?"

"You're worth more than just your position, Crowley. Even if you end up deciding not to take the crown back, it doesn't mean you're suddenly pointless."

"That's exactly what it means," the demon argued, almost petulantly.

"There are plenty of demons who don't have any real power, and they get along just fine."

"Yes, because they spend their days ripping out the intestines of preschoolers and doing the cliché rape/pillage act!" Crowley replied tersely. "Needless to say, that's a routine I'm not particularly interested in."

"Look..." Sam pursed his lips, trying to find a way to at least assail Crowley's worries to a certain degree. There was really nothing he could say to change the fact that a demon with humanity running Hell was going to be bordering on impossible. "Maybe Hell could use a leader with a heart, you know? I mean, if an evil angel could run things, why not a good demon?"

Crowley seemed surprised by his use of the word 'good'. "That's very optimistic of you, Moose, but I just don't know if it could work."

"Well." Sam took another sip of his cocktail. "Even if you can't take the throne back, look on the bright side." He lifted his glass. "You've always got me, whether you like it or not."

Crowley raised his glass and tapped it against Sam's with a small smile.


	48. Got Me Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Indiana Jones references are made, and Sam loses his favorite pair of boots.

_"Sam Winchester," Crowley whispers, a breathy laugh skirting over his words. "The Boy King and the King of Hell. What a pair we make." There's blood. So much blood. Everywhere. Sam isn't sure what's happening._

_"You make it sound like we're dating."_

_"Was that an offer, Moose?"_

_"Shut up," Sam says, eyes watering. "Just shut the hell up and don't die, okay? Don't die."_

_"If I didn't know any better... Moose... I'd say that you care..."_

_"Of course I - just, stop, please... heal yourself. Tell me you've got enough energy left to heal yourself."_

_"You can tell when I'm lying."_

_"Damn it, Crowley!"_

_"Gonna blame me... for dying... that's cold, Sam."_

_"You can't die. Abaddon's still on the throne, remember? You've got to stop her, and you're going to slit her throat and stick her head on a pike and take Hell back, because she's a little whore and you're the King, goddamnit."_

_Crowley laughs, and it's faint. Too faint._

_"You can't encourage me back to life, you know."_

_"I can try."_

_"Tell my vessel to stop dying then, would you?"_

_Sam grabbed Crowley's face in his hands, gray eyes staring directly into dark green. "STOP DYING!"_

_Crowley snorts, his gaze going fuzzy, not holding the intensity it usually does. Blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth._ "I wasn't being serious, you know."

_"No, no. You've got a talk out loud. You've got to stay with me."_

"So... damn... needy..."

_"Crowley!"_

_"'M still listening."_

_"Can't you just smoke out? Find another vessel?_

_Crowley weakly shakes his head, his eyes falling closed._ "Too weak to ditch this one."

_"What can fix you? Come on, there's got to be something that'll keep you from dying. Anything." Crowley is silent for so long that Sam fears the worst. He shakes the demon roughly. "Come on, Crowley!"_

"There's nothing for it," _Crowley replies._ "It's been fun, Sam. Don't shed too many tears for me, I don't want my funeral getting maudlin."

_"Crowley-" Sam begins, but he is cut off by the demon king letting out one final, stuttering cough, before his body permanently stills. Sam instantly feels as though he's lost a part of himself as their connection breaks, like a whole segment of his mind and heart has been forcibly extracted with a knife, replaced with a sucking black void. His heart is beating too quickly, he isn't aware of Crowley's thoughts or feelings, physical pains... he feels empty._

_A tear slips out of the corner of his eye. He closes his eyes tightly. No, no, this can't be happening._

"OI! MOOSE!"

Sam jerked awake in his bed, his heart stuttering as he looked around wildly. Crowley stood by the side of his bed, arms crossed, regarding him with an irritated expression.

"Crowley," Sam whispered. "You're..."

"I'm what?" Crowley asked, arching an eyebrow. "Annoyed? Yes. I've been trying to wake you up for the past fifteen minutes. Now is not the time to be catching up on your beauty sleep."

"Why? Is something going on?" Sam could hear the hotel room's shower running. Bobby was already up, then. Sam checked the clock - it was just barely seven.

Crowley's serious expression dropped, his mouth widening into a grin. "I think I've found it, Sam. I've finally bloody found it."

"The Assyrian ruins-"

"There's a force field around the entire place. Warded very heavily. I can't even transport in and out. I could walk through the guard, but that was it. The ruins are massive, but I've found a trap-door of sorts... the aura around the entire place just stinks of Heaven. I can't make any guarantees, but if it smells like a garden..." He held up his hands. "Put on your walking shoes. We're going on a field trip."

"Alright." Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Give me five minutes, and I'll be ready to go. Does it look like anything's guarding the place?"

"Aside from the warding, nothing that I've seen - but I have a feeling once we get inside, there may be an issue or two."

"Define issue."

"Every seen _Indiana Jones_?" Crowley inquired blandly. Sam grimaced as he rose from his bed and made to go for his dresser. However, before he could, Crowley put a hand on his arm to halt him. "And Moose?" Sam met the demon's eyes. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Great. Crowley had seen his nightmare. Some days he really hated their connection. Then again, after what he'd just felt in his dreams, he was beginning to think that he wouldn't survive well without it.

Sam just nodded, unsure of how to respond. Crowley released him, but his arm felt warm where the demon's hand had been. He went to his dresser and made short work of getting dressed. He didn't know how long Crowley stayed in the room after he turned away from him, and he didn't particularly care. It's not as if Crowley hadn't seen him in minimal clothing before. He still remembered the ice bath.

When he'd finished getting dressed and had gathered any weapons he might need for their trip, he made his way into the living room. Crowley and Bobby were waiting for him there.

"Ready?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. Let's go. Maybe we can finally be done with this."

"One can hope," Crowley said. He beckoned Sam over. "Come on."

"I thought you said you couldn't transport inside."

"I can still transport in the general area. We're just going to have to do a bit of walking," the demon explained. Sam nodded, then came forward. Crowley put a hand on each of their shoulders. His stomach did an unpleasant flip as their hotel room disappeared from sight, and was replaced with an endless stretch of sand. Sam blinked against the intense sun. He slipped a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on.

"Where are we?" Bobby asked.

"The Rub' al Khali desert," Crowley answered. He pointed to the horizon. "See that rubble over there?"

"Yeah."

"That's where we're going." He started treading through the sand, and Sam and Bobby fell into step behind him. Hot, scorching wind bit at Sam's skin as they followed Crowley. He flipped up the collar of his thin white button-down and ducked against the wind, trying to avoid getting sand in places that sand didn't really belong.

"Starting to wish that Eden was in the middle of the arctic tundra," Bobby commented.

"That makes two of us," Sam replied.

It took them about twenty minutes to get to the ruins that Sam had dispatched Crowley to. Sun-bleached walls that had crumbled and decayed over many centuries of abandonment towered over them. It appeared like they were in a small town, built in a circular formation around some large, round building that looked almost like an arena. It also appeared to be more intact than the rest of the ruins in the area.

They weaved through the ancient, abandoned village, all three of them on alert. They'd all been much more wary since Crowley's ambush last week. Sam half expected a demon to jump out from behind every pillar and crumbling home they passed, unlikely as that was.

They reached the building in the center of the ruins, and once they passed through a large, dilapidated portcullis, he saw that they were indeed inside an arena. Stone seats circled around them, falling apart and completely turned to dust in places. In the center, there was a small open square that led straight down into darkness.

"I uncovered it when I was searching here earlier," Crowley explained. "Haven't gone down yet. Thought it would be best to get you two first." He gave them a mirthless smile. "Team building exercise. Shall we?"

The three of them walked to the small square and gazed down into the darkness. The rungs of a rope ladder were just visible at the top. "Exactly how likely is it that Eden's underground?" Bobby asked.

"Likely enough. It's a sentient garden, how am I supposed to know how it thinks?" The demon's eyes flicked between Sam and Bobby. "So, who wants to go first?"

Bobby rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but he got on the ground, testing the top rung with the toe of his boot. With a world-weary sigh, he began his trek down the ladder, quickly disappearing into the void. Sam tailed after him, nervous when the rope rung nearly seemed to buckle under his weight. He climbed down, quickly losing all sight and having to feel his way down.

The passage was illuminated when Crowley began climbing down after Sam. The demon maneuvered with one hand and his feet, using his other to hold a small flame that illuminated the way. Sam felt claustrophobic as they climbed downwards, his shoulders brushing either side of the narrow passage.

"Do you have any idea how far down this goes?" Sam called up to Crowley.

"Not the foggiest."

"Great."

After what seemed like hours of climbing, Bobby let out a shout of victory. "About damn time."

"You reach the ground?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Can't see a thing, though. Hurry up and get down here, Crowley."

"Patience, Robert," Crowley retorted, but the two of them sped up their descent, and soon, they were all standing in a cluster at the bottom of the ladder. Looking up, they couldn't even see the speck of light that marked where the vertical tunnel ended.

The flame in Crowley's palm grew brighter, enough to allow them to make out their surroundings. They were in a long corridor, lined with dusty, clay tiles. Torch brackets hung on the walls. "Ah-hah." He took one of the long put-out torches and relit it with the fire in his palm. It increased the radius of the area they could see significantly. "Anyone bring a whip?" Crowley asked with half of a smirk.

"Funny," Sam said dryly. "So, do we just... go? An ancient ruin like this, the place is bound to be booby-trapped, right?"

"It's not as if we can just turn back and hope that we didn't skip over Eden," Crowley said. "Fortune favors the brave, gentlemen." The demon began slowly making his way forward. "Onwards and upwards."

The three of them walked cautiously down the long corridor. Long pillars stretched up to a ceiling that Sam couldn't see, ornately carved with all manners of symbols that Sam couldn't even begin to understand. He felt a pit of anxiety in his stomach, and at first, he assumed it was his own, but he soon realized that some of the feeling was coming from Crowley was well.

 _"Relax. You're making me nervous,"_ Sam told him.

 _"Easier said than done,"_ Crowley responded. _"Haven't you ever seen_ The Mummy _? Treks into long-lost ruins rarely- bollocks!"_ There was the sound of gears moving, and Crowley dropped the torch and shouted, "Get back!"

Sam and Bobby scrambled backwards, and Sam felt a tug in his head as Crowley used his powers. Sam was confused, unsure of what exactly was happening. "What? What's going on?" Sam asked. Bobby bent down and picked up the discarded torch, which was thankfully still lit. He held it up, and it revealed what Crowley was doing. Several hundred sharpened darts hung suspended in the air. The tile underneath Crowley's foot was depressed.

He could feel Crowley's strength flagging much faster than usual. "Are you okay?"

"The warding's effecting my powers," Crowley growled out. "Practically running on fumes." Crowley lowered his hands, and all of the darts clattered to the ground, littering the hallway.

"So, the place is booby-trapped," Bobby said. "Ain't that just delightful."

"Step carefully," Crowley said. " _Watch_ where you're walking. The pressure plates are slightly off-color. I should've seen it." Taking every step slowly and cautiously, they continued. After several minutes, they reached an intersection. One hallway went to the left, one to the right, and one led down the middle.

Sam sighed. "Okay... uh... so what direction do we go in?"

"Left," Crowley said.

"Right," Bobby said at the same time.

"Really, because I was thinking we should take the middle one," Sam said, frowning.

"We're going down the left. This was built to foil men, not demons," Crowley told them in a bored tone. "The Heaven stink is strongest down that way. The other halls are probably just dead-ends or lead to pits of spikes or some other unoriginal manner of killing curious explorers."

"Okay. Left it is," Sam agreed. They went down the corridor to their immediate left, their footsteps echoing off of the walls. Crowley halted them after about two minutes of walking.

"Wait," he warned. "There are grooves on the wall here," he said, pointing to the wall. Bobby directed the torch towards it, and there were indeed two inch wide grooves on either side of the corridor. Bobby's eyes went to the ground.

"Looks like pressure plates - the whole section in front of you, 'bout ten feet across," Bobby said. Crowley backed away.

"There's no chance of us jumping that. We're going to have to activate them and see what happens."

Sam glanced around the passage, looking for something they could drop on the pressure plate. There were no objects in the corridor, nothing that wasn't a part of the architecture. Sam jumped when he realized that Crowley was kneeling in front of him.

"What the hell-"

"Your boots," Crowley explained, untying Sam's laces. "They're the heaviest thing we have to drop on them. Hopefully it's enough weight."

Although he was slightly disgruntled at the impending loss of his favorite pair of boots, Sam allowed Crowley to slip them off of his feet. They were size thirteen and steel-toed, so he imagined they would be heavy enough to activate whatever booby-trap was in front of them.

Crowley tied the laces of Sam's shoes together and promptly tossed them into the center of the section of pressure plates. There was a pause, and then axe blades the size of two men suddenly swung across the length of the hallway. There were three of them, spaced about three feet away from each other.

"Wow, okay," Sam said. "That's... not good." He watched as his boots were cleaved clean in two. "Damn it."

"If we time our movements, we can get across," Crowley said. "I'll go first - it's not as if I'm really risking anything, anyway."

 _"Yeah, but you're meat suit isn't going to look nearly as good if it's cut in half,"_ Sam commented. Crowley snorted.

 _"Miss this body, would you?"_ Crowley retorted. The demon took a moment to time the intervals that the axes swung across the gap, then crept forward. The first one missed him. He slid clear of the second. He beat the third by a breath. He looked back at them with a smirk once he was safely on the other side. "There. Nothing to it."

"Says the demon who can't be killed by giant swingin' axes," Bobby grumbled. "Here goes."

Bobby made it across without any difficulty. Sam was left on the other end, watching as the axe blades swung back and forth like pendulums. With a deep breath, he crossed the first groove, then the second, and then the third, all in one fluid movement. The wind blew at his hair as he passed the axes, but he was uninjured.

They continued on, thankfully not running into any further booby traps, other than a trip wire that would have sent a spiked ceiling crashing down on them. Crowley noticed it before one of them could trip it, so they stepped carefully over it without any harm coming to any of them. Soon, they reached the end of the seemingly endless corridor. A set of shallow steps led downward into darkness.

"We're close. Very close," Crowley said. "I can feel it."

Down the stairs they went. Sam had to tread carefully, as he had little traction with just his socks on. The staircase was enormous, but eventually, they reached the bottom. Bobby lifted their torch, and it illuminated a gargantuan set of doors, seemingly made out of some kind of shiny, black metal.

"Did they even have the technology to make something like this when the Assyrians were alive?" Sam asked.

"Hell no they didn't," Bobby said, rapping a knuckle on the door. "That looks like obsidian."

"This wasn't put here by the Assyrians," Crowley said. "This is angel made. Look at these carvings... they're gilded..." Crowley traced a gold symbol slightly above his head. Now that Sam was looking closer, he could see that the entire door was covered in intricate gold sigils. "Enochian," the demon said. "Angel-made."

Bobby pushed experimentally at the door. It didn't shift at all. "How do we get through it?"

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, hand still on the door, and suddenly, the symbols on the doors glowed a vibrant yellow. Sam gasped as he felt white hot energy burning through him, seeping over from his link with Crowley. "What - what is it?"

"This door's only meant for angels," Crowley said, his voice thick. The power from the door seemed to be having an effect on him. "But I can still get us in... it wants to know things that only an angel would know." He licked his lips. "But what it doesn't know is that I've cracked an angel... I'm in on all of their dirty little secrets."

After a brief pause, Crowley began speaking in a language Sam just barely recognized from the few times he'd heard Cas speak it; it was Enochian. The door continued to burn bright as the demon chanted under his breath. Sam and Bobby watched and waited, both of them anxious to see if Crowley would be able to break the final barrier.

There was a click, then a brilliant flash of light. Suddenly, the doors were swinging outwards. Crowley let out a victorious laugh as he stepped away. The light faded, replaced by natural sunlight. The three of them stepped forward, and Sam gasped as he took in what was in front of them.

To say that it was beautiful would've been a gross, almost disrespectful understatement. It was beyond beauty. It was pure. It was holy, that went without question. It was… it was _amazing_. There was no one word that could possibly capture it.

"Holy shit," Bobby said from beside him. Okay. That was close. But that was two words.

Every plant that Sam had ever seen in the entirety of his life was present in the cavern, which had a large hole in the top to let in sunlight. There were tens and thousands more species that he'd never laid his eyes on. Mushrooms twice his size towered over bushes covered with brilliant flowers, fragrant and painted in ever color of the rainbow. Fir trees stood next to red woods and weeping willows, maples and palm trees, ginkos and elms.

The walls of the cavern were covered thoroughly in lichens. There was moss colored red, brown, green and yellow. Vines wove their way up and down the walls. Some were thick and bearing strange fruit, others were thin, green, and snake-like. The floor underneath their feet was a carpet of lush, verdant grass. The smell of life was in the air, the aroma of flowers and fruit and pine. It was an oasis... an untouched oasis.

Through the garden wove a flowing stream. Fish swam under the water, but it wasn't clear or blue, it was _gold_. Liquid gold. The light from the opening in the top of the cavern shimmered over the top of the golden water, refracting in hundreds of different colors on the rocks in the stream bed.

In the distance, birds chattered and sang, calling to the three of them. Insects buzzed around them, and bees nuzzled inside of blooming flowers. He thought distantly that Cas would've liked the place. He'd always loved bees, after all.

In the middle of the Garden stood an apple tree. Ruby red apples hung from the thick boughs, weighing it down. In the roots of the apple tree sat an African American man with silver hair and a matching beard. It was Joshua. The angel hadn't noticed their presence yet, it seemed.

"This is… I don't even have words for it," Sam said reverently. "I wish Dean and Cas could see this."

"We'll send them a postcard," Crowley said. Even the demon seemed a bit awed by their surroundings, and it was a rare thing for the King to be impressed by much of anything.

Joshua lifted his head, aware of their presence, now. To Sam's surprise, he smiled. It was a small, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I thought you might come," he said, loud enough for them to hear over the bird song and pleasant burble of the golden stream. Joshua beckoned them towards him. "Let's talk. I imagine you have many questions."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to put in a little ad here - I have a new story up! It's called Game of Shadows, and just as Falling Skies is my irreverent canon-disregarding version of season nine, Game of Shadows is my version of season ten! If you're interested, head on over and give it a looksee. :)


	49. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which God goes with the hands-off approach, and the boys are pissed about it.

Cautiously, Sam, Bobby, and Crowley weaved their way through the Garden, leaves and petals brushing them as they navigated the thickets of lush plant life. The bottoms of Sam's socks became soaked as they walked, as the lush grass of Eden was damp. When they arrived in the shadow of the massive apple tree, Joshua stood, wiping his hands off on his pants.

"You're Joshua?" Bobby asked without preamble.

"Yes, I am. And you are Bobby Singer." He stuck out his hand. "It is an honor."

Warily, Bobby accepted the gardener's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Likewise," he said. The angel released his hand, and then took Sam's.

"It's good to see you again, Sam. You've grown quite a bit in the past few years."

He knew that Joshua wasn't talking about his height. "It's good to see you, too."

When Joshua dropped Sam's hand, he offered it to Crowley next. That caused all three of them to raise their eyebrows in surprise.

 _"An angel showing respect to a demon?"_ Crowley thought at Sam. _"That's a new one."_

Crowley, after a moment of deliberating, grasped the angel's hand. "You're not an easy one to find," he told him.

"I made many enemies in Heaven in recent years," Joshua admitted after he released Crowley's hand. "I thought it would be best if I remained, as they say, on the down low. I am the only one left who truly knows the location of the Garden, so I thought staying here would be prudent."

"Enemies?" Crowley echoed, tilting his head. "Which of the God Squad were after you when Metatron locked the doors up, then?"

"Naomi and her _intelligence division_ ," Joshua told them, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "She knew, of course, that God spoke to me. She wanted to know what He was saying. He didn't want her to be privy to that information. She held me captive for quite some time, but her torture methods didn't work on me." He seemed to hold back a sigh. "I wish I could say the same for some of my younger brothers and sisters."

Sam's hands involuntarily clenched into fists at his sides as he thought of Cas. Cas, who had large gaps of nothingness in his memory from Naomi's violent tampering. Cas, who had been forced to kill Samandiriel, and almost Dean as well. Who knew how many angels Naomi had tortured into submission?

"But you're not here to talk about that, are you?" Joshua smiled faintly at them. "Go ahead and ask your questions."

"First things first – is the original absent father figure still whispering sweet nothings into your ear?" Crowley asked with all of his usual tact.

"Not since a few short moments before the Gates were shut and the angels were cast out. Before that, he was very quiet. He'd only spoken to me twice since you averted the apocalypse," Joshua explained.

"Well, don't keep us on the edge of our seats. What did he say?" Crowley pressed.

"He said many things. He warned me of what was to come, and He foretold a coming war between Heaven and Hell. He instructed me to find the Garden and take refuge there. He said that the world would never be the same… and then said to have faith. To trust that you would save the Earth again."

"You as in _us_?" Bobby asked.

"That we would? Who's _we_?" Sam tacked on.

"He said, 'the Winchesters, the prophet, their angel, their demon, and their mentor,'" the angel quoted.

 _"I'm your demon now, am I?"_ Crowley thought at him.

 _"Apparently God thinks so,"_ Sam replied.

"'The fate of the universe rests on their shoulders,'" Joshua continued.

The three of them exchanged glances as God's word settled down on them. "So," Bobby said. "The Almighty dropped the ball – _again_ – and now He's just gonna sit back with a bag of popcorn and watch us deal with the consequences?"

"We're being left to clean up your Daddy's messes again, is that it?" Crowley asked, and Sam felt the demon's temper flare dangerously over their link.

With the combined power of Crowley and Bobby's old guy rage, Joshua was motivated to take a few steps backward.

"Now, now – I believe the saying is don't kill the messenger?" Joshua held up his hands. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear."

Crowley stalked forward, backing Joshua into the apple tree. "Then tell me something I do want to hear," the demon growled. "Xaphan – how do we lock him back up in his Cage?"

"It's not possible," Joshua said somberly. "As long as Heaven remains closed, there's no way that Xaphan and the other Fallen can be returned to Heaven's prison. Until you complete the angel trials, Xaphan will be free."

"How do you know about the angel trials?" Bobby asked.

"God told me-"

"I want you to tell God something from me," Crowley spat out, cutting across Joshua. He grabbed fistfuls of the angel's shirt in his hands, startling the gardener. "Tell Him to _get bent_. Tell Him to deal with His own bloody issues, for once! Every time He breaks the world and doesn't do anything to fix it, He leaves _us_ to put all the pieces back together! Some _God_ He is, hiding in a hole in the ground while He leaves two boys, a socially inept angel, an old drunk, a teenager, and a damn _demon_ to deal with His problems!"

"Crowley," Sam said, reaching out with his mind in an attempt to soothe the rage pumping through the demon. _"Just let him go. This isn't his fault."_ He was pissed too – they'd spent months searching for Joshua and Eden to find out what God had to say, and just like last time, all God had to say was that the end of the world wasn't His problem… but taking it out on Joshua wouldn't help anything.

 _"Months! We've wasted_ months _looking for this idiot, and God's just been feeding him the same bit he's been feeding humanity for ages! Have faith – faith, what the hell is_ faith _good for? Faith won't save us, and it won't save the world."_

"We've wasted all this time looking for you – looking for _answers_ , and your response is, 'answer is foggy, try again later'?" Crowley said lowly, bringing his face closer to Joshua's. "Tell me, how does it feel to be wingless and homeless? How does it feel to know that Daddy cares about you so much that he'd let some punkass angel straight out of an episode of _Hoarders_ lock you out of your kingdom-"

 _"Crowley – stop. For me, please."_ Joshua was still an angel, and if pushed, he could kill Crowley. Sam didn't want to risk that.

 _"For you?"_ Crowley's mind seemed to stall on the words, but then Sam felt his anger begin to fizzle. _"Bollocks. You really are turning me soft."_

Crowley released Joshua, backing away with a grimace. "We're wasting our time here," he said sharply. "We may as well leave."

"Joshua, please, is there anything even remotely helpful that you can tell us?" Sam asked, making one last bid to get something useful out of all of the work they'd done.

"Trust in each other," Joshua said, almost serenely. "I have no illusions – I know that none of you have much faith in God. But at least have faith in your friends," he told them.

"I could've gotten better advice from a fortune cookie," Crowley snarked. He turned his back on the angel and began walking back through the Garden and to the exit. Sam and Bobby followed after him, but Joshua's voice stopped them.

"And one more thing gentlemen…" The three of them turned back to look at the angel. His expression turned grave. "Do not tell Anthriel where I am, or the location of the Garden. It would be in all of our best interests if you kept that information to yourselves."

"We won't tell her," Bobby said. "We ain't got any more love for the other angels than you do. They're just the lesser of two evils."

"Oh, they're the lesser of two evils, alright," a chillingly familiar voice sounded from the gate. "Which is exactly why they're going to lose."

Crowley and Sam's eyes met. "Fuck," they chorused. The three of them turned. Assembled in front of the Garden gate was at least forty demons, and in the lead was Abaddon. She was grinning at them like they were the funniest thing she'd ever seen, twirling an angel blade in her slender fingers. Her nails were painted the color of blood.

"Hello, boys."

"How did they find us again?" Sam said, ripping Ruby's knife out of the sheath on his side. An angel blade dropped into Crowley's waiting right hand, his angel gun dropped into the other. He tossed it to Bobby, who caught it without question.

"How many bullets does this thing have?"

"Enough," Crowley responded. Crowley strode forward, taking a stance in front of them. "Come to take a stroll in the Garden, Abaddon? You should've called ahead – I would've put the kettle on."

"So, this is what you're reduced to, Crowley?" Abaddon asked, matching his steps. "Running around the desert with humans? Hunters, no less?"

"They're better company than spineless, idiotic, disloyal, pathetic excuses for demons, wouldn't you say?" Crowley retorted, lip curling in disgust. The demon's anger at the sight of Abaddon was consuming, and it bled over their link. Sam was threatening to succumb to Crowley's rage and launch himself at the female demon.

"Well, those _poor excuses for demons_ are going to be the ones that rip your little friends apart piece by piece and eat them in front of you," Abaddon said. "Once the show's over, I'll tear your smoke in two with my bare hands, and then bring your meat suit's head to Hell. Let everyone know what happened to the great King Crowley, the demon who couldn't hold onto his throne – couldn't even hold onto what made him a demon in the first place."

Sam felt Joshua's presence right behind him. "The Garden is no place for your kind. Leave at once," the angel ordered. Sam glanced back at Joshua, and he saw that the angel's eyes were glowing hot white-blue. He felt the power radiating off of him. Although Crowley had told him that the angels had lost their ability to kill demons with just the sight of their true forms during the Fall, the angel still would be a force to be reckoned with. "Leave voluntarily, or I will make you."

"Four against forty… funnily enough, angel, I don't think you can make us do anything at all." She pointed her angel blade at them. _"Go."_

The small army of demons raced forward – some were armed with normal weapons, some with angel blades. Regardless, they were screwed. There was no way they could fight them all, but there was also no way they could teleport out, as Crowley's powers were so weakened by the warding around Eden.

They had no choice but to fight. However, before Sam could even move, Crowley shoved both he and Bobby backwards. With his demonic strength, he sent both of them tumbling to the ground. He snapped his fingers, and a nearby shrub instantly burst into flames. Guiding the fire with his hand, he spread it out in front of them, creating a barrier between the four of them and the demons racing towards them. Most of the attacking force just raced through the fire, roasting their meat suits alive, but some stopped.

"What in the name of God are you doing!? _You cannot burn Eden!_ " Joshua yelled desperately as he watched the Garden burn around him.

"Is there another way out of here?" Crowley called to Joshua, ignoring his protests. He stabbed the first demon that made it through the flames in the chest. "A backdoor, anything?"

"The gate is the only way in and out of Eden!" The angel put his hand on the forehead of the nearest demon, burning him out of his meat suit. "And without my wings, I am unable to transport all of you to safety!"

Great. That meant that they truly had no choice but to kill all of the demons – and then somehow face Abaddon, which was literally impossible with the weapons they currently had. Sam rose back to his feet, stabbing the nearest demon through the throat with Ruby's knife. He ripped it out, blood spraying across his face. Almost all of the demons had made it through Crowley's flame wall.

_"Crowley, there's no way we can fight them all-"_

_"Do you have a better idea!?"_

No. No, he really didn't. Sam cut his way through demon after demon, trying to get hurt as little as possible. He lost track of where Bobby, Crowley, and Joshua were – he could sense that Crowley was alright for the most part, but every injury the demon sustained, Sam felt poignantly over their bond. With Crowley so weakened by the heavy warding on Eden, he wasn't the killing machine he imagined that he would've been otherwise.

What he was most worried about, however… where was Abaddon? He'd lost track of her.

Sam was alright until he accidentally let his guard down with a small, female demon, and she managed to bury an angel blade about two inches into his side.

 _"Sam!"_ Crowley yelled in his head.

Sam screamed, falling to his knees. He was able to gut the female demon with Ruby's knife, but he could feel the wound bleeding grievously. He wasn't sure if the blade had hit any of his organs, but it hurt like a bitch.

More demons were coming for him. He struggled back to his feet, intense pain shooting into his abdomen. He gored the next demon that came for him through the chest, but then two more tackled him to the ground. He struggled underneath them, every movement tearing the wound in his side open further and further. He saw an angel blade heading for his neck. He raised his arm to block it, and the sleeve of his jacket was ripped open and the blade impaled his arm. He screamed in agony as black spots filled his vision.

Suddenly, both demons were lifted up and thrown ten feet backwards and into the flames. Through blurry vision, he saw Crowley standing over him. The demon looked about ready to faint, sweat dripping down his brow. He grabbed Sam's hand, pulling him up to his feet and supporting him once he stood. Crowley kept a tight grip on his hand.

"Crowley-"

"I know." Another three demons came towards them. Bobby shot one of them between the eyes with the angel gun, which he seemed particularly talented with, and Crowley blasted the other two away with a wave of his hand.

"I can't heal you, Sam," Crowley said lowly. "So you have to hold on. Do you understand me? _You have to hold on_."

"Easier… easier said than done," he stammered. He could feel another pain, a phantom pain in his thigh. He looked down at Crowley's legs, and he saw that his left was caked thoroughly in blood and trembling. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine." He stabbed the next demon that rushed them through the skull. Sam tried to focus on the battle. Bobby was holding his own – Crowley seemed to have enchanted the angel gun so it had infinite bullets sometime since Dean had given the weapon back to him, if that was even possible. Joshua was in a throng of demons, white light flashing from his hands every few seconds.

Still no sign of Abaddon.

And then Sam was blown backwards, right into the boughs of the massive apple tree – which he could only assume was _the_ apple tree. The injuries in his abdomen and arm screamed as he tumbled down through the branches and landed on the unforgiving ground with a whimper and a groan. He heard similar sounds from nearby – Bobby and Crowley had been thrown as well.

"Well, this has been fun, but I'm running on a bit of tight schedule," Abaddon drawled. Sam lifted his head as much as he could, and through a haze, he saw the Knight of Hell encroaching on Crowley, who was flat on his back, gasping for breath. She pressed her heel down on his throat. "The old king is dead," she said. "Long live the queen."

 _"NO!"_ Sam screamed both aloud and in his head. Crowley turned his head so that he would meet Sam's eyes.

 _"Thank you, Sam,"_ he told him over their link, resignation in his tone. _"For everything."_

 _"Don't you dare, Crowley, you told me you weren't going anywhere, you – you can't die! You_ can't _!"_

_"I'm sorry."_

Abaddon went to drive the blade down into Crowley's chest, but she stopped when the entire cavern around them began shaking violently. Cracks appeared in the sides of the cave that protected Eden. The Enochian sigils on the door began glowing brilliant gold. Abaddon looked up, actually seeming confused.

"What's happening?"

"You have tainted the Garden," Joshua said, somewhere out of Sam's view. "Better to destroy it than to allow it to be corrupted by the likes of you." He heard the whine of Joshua's true voice, stabbing into his ears. White light glowed, and debris and rubble began falling from around the cavern. It was collapsing in on itself.

There was an explosion of gold from the Garden's gate – and suddenly, he felt a surge of energy from Crowley. _"He broke the warding!"_

"RUN!" Joshua yelled.

In a split second, the demon was at his side and hauling him up. Abaddon let out a scream of rage, going after him with her angel blade, but he zapped them both out of the way. Crowley held out a hand, and Bobby was sprinting towards them as the remaining demons in the cavern began to panic. Many of them smoked out of their meat suits, their black essences pooling into a massive storm cloud over head.

Bobby grabbed Crowley's arm, and suddenly, the collapsing, burning holy Garden disappeared from their view, and Sam felt his stomach do flips as Crowley transported them away from Eden. A second later, the three of them were tumbling into sand. It stuck to his sweat-slicked skin, his lips, it got in his eyes. Sam coughed, struggling to push himself up, but he was weakening steadily with the loss of blood. The world spun around him.

He heard Crowley calling his name, but he couldn't stay conscious any longer. Everything was fading away, and he was unable to hold on. The last thing he felt before slipping into the darkness was a warm hand on the side of his face.


	50. Nothing You Can Live Without, Nothing You Can Do About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlie is the only one who seems to actually know what's going on, and reunited never felt so good.

"I can't believe you're a Sony boy. You've disappointed me, Kevin."

"Sony has way better first party publishers than Microsoft."

"Microsoft has Bungie, which means Halo, which means _better_."

"Halo's overrated. I prefer COD anyway."

"You bite your tongue!"

"You have any idea what the hell they're talking about?" Dean asked, looking at Cas. The ex-angel shook his head.

"Absolutely none. Pass me the spoon," Cas requested.

Dean obeyed, and Cas stirred the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. The two of them were making dinner while Kevin and Charlie watched Netflix and argued/bonded over their nerd stuff in the other room. Once he introduced them to each other, they'd hit it off immediately, which didn't surprise Dean. Kevin hadn't had the chance to spend time around anyone who he shared any similarities with, so the kid was probably thrilled to hang out with someone he actually had a few things in common with.

Dean, Cas, and Charlie had just got back from a werewolf hunt in Houston early that morning, and they were all taking the rest of the day off – and they'd forced Kevin to take a break from the angel tablet. Another sleepless night would probably kill the teen, so it was for the best.

"How's your arm feeling?" Dean asked, shooting a concerned glance at Cas.

"Good enough." Cas's arm was heavily bandaged – he'd been clawed by a werewolf last night pretty badly, but after some whiskey and suturing in their motel room, Cas was in okay shape. "It's throbbing, but I believe that it was dealt with early enough that it doesn't run the risk of getting infected."

Cas added a pinch of oregano to the sauce. The two of them had been slowly learning to cook together over the past month or so when they had the time. They were getting to the point where they could make simple stuff that actually tasted pretty good.

"Have you called Sam yet today?" Cas inquired.

Dean sighed. He had been checking in even more frequently with his brother since their safe house in Doha had been compromised the week beforehand. He didn't know how the hell the demons knew where they were and what they were doing – apparently Crowley's right hand demon wasn't the traitor, but there was a leak somewhere, and until they plugged it, Sam, Bobby, and Crowley were in danger. More danger than usual, anyway.

"Tried to call him about an hour ago. No response. I tried texting him, too," Dean said, feeling worry creep into his gut. "I'll give it until after dinner, and then I'll call again. If he doesn't pick up, I'll call Bobby and Crowley… and if they don't pick up, we're catching a plane to Saudi Arabia."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Cas said gravely.

"Well, we've never been lucky before, so why start now?" Dean asked dryly, straining the noodles. "I swear, if Sammy got himself hurt-"

Dean was interrupted by sounds of crashing, groaning, and splintering wood behind him. He and Cas whirled around in an instant. The kitchen table was in fragments, broken apart, and in the wreckage was Sam, Bobby, and Crowley. Sam was on his back, and he was horrified to see blood soaking one of Sam's arms and his entire abdomen. His brother's eyes were closed, and he was deathly pale.

Crowley was in a similar state of disrepair, with blood streaming down his nose and his pant leg soaked with crimson. Bobby seemed to be in the best shape, though he was missing his hat and had a deep cut across his cheek and what looked like the beginnings of a pretty severe shiner on his left eye. Bobby pushed himself onto his knees, immediately going to Sam and putting a finger on his neck.

"What the hell happened!?" Dean exclaimed, rushing towards his brother. Cas followed close behind. He was relieved when he realized that Sam's chest was still rising and falling, but his brother still looked like he was on death's door. He put a hand on the side of Sam's cheek, and his skin was cold.

"We found Eden," Crowley growled before spitting up a clump of blood on the ground. "So did Abaddon." He shoved Dean out of the way, and then placed his hand on Sam's forehead, almost desperately. Crowley's eyes flashed Crossroads red, and then he collapsed backward, thoroughly unconscious by the looks of it. Sam gasped, and his eyes opened as color flooded back into his skin.

"Sammy?" Dean said, his voice rough. "Sammy, are you alright?"

Sam gulped, looking down at his stomach. He reached up a shaking, dirty hand, and pushed aside the ripped fabric of his shirt. The skin underneath was bloody, but whole. He glanced at his arm, and was met with the same thing. "I'm – I'm fine. Crowley healed me."

Charlie and Kevin rushed into the kitchen, having heard the clatter. They both froze in the doorway, taking in the scene.

"What's going on?" Kevin asked, eyes widening when he saw Sam. "Holy crap, are you okay?"

"It looks a lot worse than it is," Sam told the prophet. "Like Crowley said… we found Eden. But so did Abaddon. Joshua… he destroyed the place to give us a chance to get away," Sam explained, sitting up with effort. "I - I think Joshua's dead, now. I don't know." Bobby kept a hand on one of his shoulders, and Dean kept a tight grip on the other.

"The Garden of Eden is destroyed?" Cas repeated, incredulous. "That's not possible. How could Joshua do that?"

"Well, he had help," Bobby told them. "Crowley burned half the place before Joshua collapsed the cavern in on top of it."

"Cavern? Eden was in a cavern?" Cas almost looked scandalized. "And Crowley _burned_ it-"

"We can talk details later," Sam said, slowly rising to his feet. "Crowley's hurt. Badly. Let's get him to his room."

Dean nodded. Sam grabbed Crowley's arms, and Dean grabbed the demon's legs, and together, they lifted Crowley off of the ground. Normally Sam would've been able to do this by himself, but he still appeared to be weak from whatever the hell happened back in Eden, in spite of the healing routine Crowley did on him.

"Cas, get the first aid kit for Bobby, would you?" Dean asked, and Cas nodded, heading off to get their field surgeon kit from the trunk of the Impala.

"So _that's_ Crowley," Charlie said, tailing them as they carried the demon king while Kevin stayed back with Bobby. "I imagined him being a lot taller."

"I always called him a short, smarmy dick for a reason," Dean grumbled as they maneuvered around a corner.

"Yeah, but everyone's short compared to you two mountain trolls."

"I take offense to that," Dean said. "You mind getting the door?"

Charlie opened Crowley's door for them, and Dean and Sam carried Crowley inside and laid him on the bed.

"What's wrong with him?" Charlie inquired.

"Aside from getting stabbed in the thigh with an angel blade, he overexerted himself," Sam told them. "More than I've ever seen him do before." He pursed his lips, looking at the still-bleeding wound on Crowley's leg. "Should we bandage that…?"

"It's not like he can bleed out," Dean said. "But I really don't want to have to buy a new comforter for the bed, so I say we get him fixed up."

"You want to go grab me a suture kit from the field surgeon pack?" Sam asked, sitting on the bed by Crowley's feet. Dean wasn't surprised that Sam still had his weird overprotective thing going on with Crowley – spending two months together had probably only made the two of them significantly closer, which wasn't something he could claim to like.

But Crowley had saved his brother, and his best friend. So, he left the room, got the suture kit, and returned it to Sam – because people who watched out for Sam and Cas were on his side, whether he liked them or not.

And when he returned, he set the suture kit down on Crowley's bed, and then dragged Sam forcibly up and into an embrace. He squeezed him as tightly as he could without hurting him. "I missed you, Sammy," he said into Sam's ear. "It's good to have you back."

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's back and returned the hug just as fiercely. "It's good to be back."

The brothers broke apart when they heard a loud, "Awwww." from Charlie. Both of them gave her a withering look. "What? It's brotherly love at its finest."

"Uh-huh." Dean clapped Sam on the back. "I'm gonna go check on Bobby – we'll talk after you clean up Crowley."

"Alright."

* * *

Sam stripped off Crowley's shoes, socks, and pants, revealing the deep laceration on his thigh and leaving the demon in just his boxer briefs. Black silk, of course. Sam wasn't surprised. Charlie hovered nearby, having elected to stay behind and help him with Crowley.

"So…" Charlie trailed off as Sam meticulously cleaned the blood away from Crowley's leg. "Dean says you and Crowley are on the same wavelength." Sam shot her a look of scrutiny. "You know, you're sharing a brain."

"That's one way of putting it," Sam said. "The third trial did something to the two of us… connected us."

"Right," Charlie said. He wasn't surprised that Charlie was curious about he and Crowley's link. Anything supernatural tended to fascinate her. "And… how deep does that go, exactly?"

Sam dabbed anesthetic around the gash in Crowley's thigh. "We can feel everything the other person feels, basically. Hear each other's thoughts – well, not all the time, but when we want to – it's kind of hard to explain," Sam said.

"So… I'm guessing you two don't hate each other anymore?" Charlie asked. "I mean, you tried to kill him in _Abandon All Hope_ and _The Devil You Know_."

"What?"

"When you first met Crowley, and then when he joined up with you guys when you were looking for Pestilence."

"Oh, right." He often forgot about Chuck's books, especially since he hadn't seen the prophet in so many years. He could only assume that he was dead now, since Kevin was the current prophet of the Lord. "And no, we don't hate each other anymore," Sam said, setting the anesthetic to the side and grabbing the suture kit. "He's done a lot for me… and the third trial changed him."

The two of them lapsed into silence as Sam stitched up Crowley's wound. After a few minutes, Charlie spoke again. "You care about him. A lot."

"I didn't say that."

"A girl knows these things," Charlie chimed. "Something about Winchesters getting attached to people easily…"

"Yeah, well, the people we get attached to generally get hurt," Sam said. He gestured at Crowley. "Case in point."

"He'll be okay, Sam. With the way the books portrayed him, it sounds like it takes a lot more than a few flesh wounds to take out Crowley."

"He's tough," Sam agreed. "He'll be fine, eventually… I just don't know when eventually is. I think he pushed himself past his limit today." He finished suturing up Crowley's wound, and then applied a bandage to it. "Okay. You mind checking in the dresser for another pair of pants for him? The ones he had on are pretty much destroyed."

"Panty raid on the King of Hell," Charlie said with an awkward smile. "Okay then."

Charlie went through Crowley's dresser and found a spare pair of black dress pants. Together, Sam and Charlie worked Crowley's pants back on and got the demon king under the covers, after stripping off his suit jacket and draping it over his night stand.

"I guess now we just wait for him to wake up," Sam said, looking down at Crowley. He felt nothing over their connection, other than just the vague sense that Crowley was alive. His essence had been weakened dramatically by the fight in Eden and then their escape. He wished there was something he could do for the demon, but there was really nothing he could do now but wait.

Crowley's face was peaceful, the seemingly permanent tension line between his eyebrows gone. He wished that Crowley could look like that while he was awake.

Charlie and Sam exited Crowley's room and met the others in the library, where Dean was dealing with a long cut on Bobby's arm that Sam hadn't noticed before. Dean looked up when they entered.

"How is he?" he inquired.

"As good as he can be," Sam said. "Did you tell them what happened before Abaddon showed up?" he asked, directing the question at Bobby. The older hunter shook his head.

"Thought I'd let you do the honors."

Sam sighed, seating himself next to Cas and Kevin.

"We found Eden. It was in an ancient Assyrian ruin, like hundreds of feet underground. It was in this huge cavern that was open at the top. It was… it was actually really amazing. Every plant you could imagine," he said. "Well, anyway, we show up, and we grill Joshua for what God's been saying to him, if anything."

"Has God spoken to him since the apocalypse?" Cas asked, attention sharpening immediately. Sam knew that the ex-angel was going to be disappointed by what he was about to say.

"Basically, God said it's up to us to stop Xaphan and Abaddon. Like, _us_. The people in this room." He gestured around at Dean, Bobby, Kevin, and Cas. "It's our bag, not His." He frowned. "Again," he added.

Cas put his head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. Dean looked almost unaffected. "Big Guy leaves us to deal with everything again, huh?" He shook his head in something akin to disappointment. "Shocker."

"You can't be serious," Kevin said. "God said that the fact that the world is falling apart is _our_ problem? He's – He's GOD! All He has to do is wave a hand, and all of this goes away!"

"Sorry Kevin," Dean said, and Sam saw his brother's shoulders tense with restrained anger. "God doesn't give a shit. The four of us learned that lesson a long time ago."

"This doesn't even make sense! Is this all, what, a test, or something!?" Kevin slammed his hands down on the table. "He puts us through all of this hell and He's not going to do anything to help us, just treat us like rats in a cage?"

"That's all we are to Him," Cas said dismally, his voice almost too quite to hear. "I don't know why I expected any different, after all this time."

"Wait, wait, hold up," Charlie said. "God brought you back, Cas. Like, repeatedly. He put you guys on that plane after Lucifer busted out of the Cage. I mean, that has to mean something, right? And just the fact that all of you are still alive - that's a miracle in and of itself. Not to mention He resurrected Gabriel, too. He's got to care, at least a little."

"If what Joshua said holds any truth, then it is obvious that we are being left to our own devices," Cas said, drawing up his shoulders, expression hardening.

Sam felt a pang of sympathy for the former angel. Cas had been perpetually faced with evidence of his Father's indifference, but the endless resurrections always gave him just enough hope that God did care that he was crushed when the fact that He didn't was thrown in their faces yet again.

"What did Joshua say about Xaphan's Cage? Is there anyway we can open it before we reopen Heaven?"

"Nope," Bobby said. "Joshua says we're gonna have to finish off the trials to get Heaven back open and shove Xaphan back in his Cage."

"Damn it, we don't have time for that! Xaphan's wrecking the world, we can't sit around with our thumbs up our asses and wait to finish the trials," Dean protested.

"We don't have any other choice," Sam said. "If we can't lock him back up until we open the gates, we just have to open the gates."

"So," Bobby said. "We wasted two months looking for Eden, and all we find out is that we're on our own and we have no surefire way to stop Lucifer Junior."

"Pretty much," Sam replied.

"Yeah, well, what else is new?" Dean asked. He finished off stitching up Bobby's wounds and rose from his chair. "We're screwed, the weight of the world's on our shoulders..." He smiled mirthlessly. "Just another day in the neighborhood."

* * *

It was three o'clock in the morning, and Dean couldn't sleep. That alone wasn't completely unusual. Before he'd started sleeping next to Cas, he'd rarely gotten more than five or six hours of sleep a night. He was a hunter, and hunters never could find much peace in the dark. Tonight, however, he couldn't even close his eyes, and he didn't know why. If anything, he should feel calmer than usual. Sam, Bobby, and Crowley were back home, perfectly safe, and not dead.

Next to him, Cas snored quietly. He thought of waking the angel, but decided against it. Taking care to be silent, Dean slipped out of bed and exited his bedroom as stealthily as he could. He made his way to the kitchen, deciding that his usual method of 'when in doubt: beer' would work well at this hour.

He was surprised to find Sam in the kitchen. There was a half-eaten ham sandwich next to him and a lore book spread open in front of him. He looked very close to passing out. Sam didn't even glance up when he heard him enter.

"Hey," Sam said tiredly.

Dean didn't reply, instead going to the fridge and grabbing two bottles of beer. He then sat down next to Sam. His younger brother looked up at him. Dean offered him a beer. After a moment of consideration, Sam took it.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of them for a few minutes as both brothers drank.

"I'm happy as hell that you're back, you know," Dean said at length. "I mean, yeah, Eden was a bust – but I was going kind of crazy without you, man."

Sam nodded. "No, I get it. I missed you, too. It was really weird being apart for so long. We haven't been separated like that since you went to Purgatory."

"Yeah, we've been living it up the past year or so, not getting split up. But you were right, I guess. What you said before you left – we're grown ass men. We gotta be able to function on our own. It was hard, and it's not something I'd really choose to do again, but I got by. You got by." He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Call the presses; the Winchesters actually can survive without each other."

"Maybe on other sides of the world," Sam conceded. "Not necessarily without each other."

"Right." Dean tapped his fingers on the surface of the table, sipping at his beer. "It was weird hunting without you."

"Yeah, and with Cas and Charlie, no less," Sam said. "How did that go, anyway? You've been on what, three hunts together?"

"Well, sort of three. The first one was purely unintentional – the ghoul thing in Lawrence. Then we took out some vamps in Oklahoma City. This past week we were in Houston handling a wolf pack. Really, it… I'm proud." Dean smiled slightly. "They were good. Barely slowed me down at all."

"Barely, huh?"

"Charlie's a natural, but she doesn't have the same kind of physical strength going for her that Cas and I do. Cas was already a soldier. Really, the guy just needs to sharpen his people skills. He's already getting a lot better, though. He's picking up humanity pretty fast. Last week, he tied his own tie for the first time." Dean laughed quietly. "I even let him drive sometimes."

"The Impala?" Sam repeated, incredulously. "You let Cas drive _the Impala_?"

"Under close supervision, but... yeah. I do," Dean told him. "He drives like you do - complete old lady."

"I drive the speed limit, Dean."

"My point exactly."

Both of the brothers laughed. Sam pushed his book away, and Dean reached over Sam to steal the remaining half of his sandwich. Sam attempted to swat his hand away, but before he could make a grab to get his sandwich back, Dean had already stuffed the entirety of it in his mouth.

"Seriously, dude? What are you, five?" Sam said, but there was no venom in his words.

Mouth full, Dean held up six fingers. Sam rolled his eyes, but he could see the smile threatening to form on his lips.

"Reunited and it feels so good, right Sammy?" Dean asked through a mouthful of ham.

"Yeah. Totally good," Sam said, sarcasm evident.

The Winchesters laughed again, and even though things weren't particularly hopeful at the moment, Dean couldn't help but feel lighter. Because in spite of the loss they'd suffered and their quickly decreasing list of options, he had his brother back.

And really, in the end, that was what mattered.


	51. Whispers in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley is a hopeless romantic, and also a hater of pants.

_Fergus seated himself at the bar in the tavern, waiting for the barkeep, Aodh, to notice him in the throng of men inside. The pale light of the quickly fading sun streamed through the windows, casting an eerie glow on the dusty wooden fixtures inside of the bar. Fergus tapped his knuckles on the bar top, impatient for a glass of Craig. It had been a long day. Too long._

_"Oi, Aodh, any day now," he shouted over the clamor in the bar. The bartender glared at him, but he slammed down a tankard in front of him._

_"Craig?" he asked gruffly. Aodh had run the tavern in Canisbay since Fergus was born, and he was fairly sure he'd never heard more than three words at a time out of him._

_"Obviously."_

_The barkeep went to the cabinet and grabbed a decanter of the aforementioned alcohol, returning after only a moment. However, Fergus was distracted when he caught sight of someone on the other end of the room, standing against the wall almost nervously. It was a woman - something that wasn't often seen at this time of night in the tavern. She was young, probably a five or six years junior to him._

_Really, she was beautiful. Thick brown hair cascaded over slender shoulders. She was tall and slim, and she had a striking figure, even though she looked ready to run screaming from the room. She kept her eyes downcast, and he found that he wanted to get closer, because he wanted to know what color her eyes were._

_He left a quid on the bartop, paying for his yet to be poured drink, and made his way over to the mysterious woman. Canisbay wasn't a large town, by any means, and he knew almost all of the faces around here. He'd never seen this woman before, however._

_"You look a bit lost," he commented, sidling up to her. Her eyes flicked up to his. Ah. They were gray, with hints of blue in them. He liked how they looked in the light._

_"I'm looking for someone."_

_"Perhaps I could help," he offered amicably. She eyed him warily, and he realized his error. "Forgive me, I forgot to introduce myself." He extended his hand to her, and she allowed him to take her small hand in his and give it a gentle shake. "Fergus Roderick MacLeod."_

_"Vida Dunn," she greeted him. "It's a pleasure."_

_"The pleasure is all mine," he said, reluctantly releasing her hand. "Back to my earlier statement..."_

_"My father," she sighed. "My mother said he was here, but I can't seem to find him."_

_"And your father is...?_

_"Angus Dunn. I doubt you've heard of him - we just arrived in Canisbay a few days ago," she told him. "His brother, my uncle, passed away a few weeks ago, which leaves the family shop to us."_

_"Your father wouldn't be Armstrong's brother, would he? The blacksmith?"_

_"The very same."_

_So, she would be staying for awhile... and the blacksmith shop was just a stone's throw away from his own store. Even better news. Perhaps this day could be salvaged yet. "So, you haven't seen any sign of him here yet?"_

_"Not one."_

_"Well..." He flicked his eyes to the window. "The sun's going down fast. It wouldn't do for a lady such as yourself to be out at this time of night. Would it be too troublesome for me to escort you home?"_

_"I am perfectly capable of walking myself, Mr. MacLeod," she answered, giving him a dry look. He smiled at her in response._

_"Okay, you caught me... perhaps I just wanted the pleasure of your company a bit longer," he said. She blushed._

_"Well... I..."_

_"Feel free to reject me," Fergus assured her, giving her a lofty grin. "Though in my own favor, I have to say I'm quite good at walking and talking at the same time. I would make a wonderful companion."_

_She rolled her eyes, but she also smiled at him, and oh, he liked her smile. "I suppose I wouldn't mind."_

_"I'm very happy to hear that." He gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"_

_Soon, the two of them were out in the street, walking arm in arm. The air had grown cold with the loss of the sun. "What is it that you do, Mr. MacLeod?"_

_"Please, there's no need for the formalities."_

_"What do you prefer, then? Fergus, or Roderick?"_

_"It doesn't make any difference to me," he told her._

_"I've always been fond of the name Roderick," she said. "It means famous ruler, you know."_

_"How unfortunate then that I'm distinctly infamous and in charge of absolutely no one other than my siblings," he replied with a self-deprecating laugh. "Then again, my first name means bravery, and I'm not brave, either - so I suppose both of my names are unbefitting of me."_

_"So confident in yourself," she commented, her sarcasm not lost on him._

_"I know what I am. I have no illusions." He smiled at her. "However, I am devilishly handsome, so it makes up for at least a majority of my faults."_

_"Devilishly handsome, are you?"_

_"Oh yes. Or at least I like to think so. I don't often get other opinions." He nudged her slightly. "What do you think?"_

_She gave him a scrutinizing look. "Not bad," she conceded. "Eyebrows are a bit much, I have to admit."_

_"Oh, you wound me, madam."_

_"Ah-ah. No formalities for me, either," she scolded him. "Just Vida."_

_"Vida... alright," he said, testing her name. "Lovely name."_

_"All charm, aren't you?"_

_"Depends on whether my charm is actually working or not," Fergus replied as he saw both the smithy and tailor shop come into view. He smelled wood smoke - Clennan and Evandar must've started a fire._

_"Is this a subtle way of you telling me you would like to see me again?" Vida inquired. Fergus nodded._

_"Was I being subtle? I hadn't noticed. Allow me to rectify my mistake and be quite forthright." He released her arm and bent on one knee, taking her hand in his. "Vida Dunn, I would like to see you again." He smiled at her. "The area around here's rather beautiful. Perhaps you'd let me give you a proper tour?"_

_Vida laughed, and he loved the sound. She squeezed his hand lightly, then pulled him up. "Tomorrow, then. Around sunset... come get me and show me just how beautiful this place can be."_

_Fergus grinned. "I would like that very much," he said._

_"So would I," she responded as he walked her to her door. "Where do you live, anyway?"_

_He snorted, then pointed to his shop. "I'm the local tailor. If you need any of your clothing mended, I'm your man."_

_"You'll be close by," she surmised. "Isn't that a happy coincidence?"_

_"A very happy coincidence indeed," he responded. Vida gave him a small smile, then stood on her tiptoes and place a light kiss on his cheek._

_"I'll see you tomorrow, Roderick." She did like that name better, then. Without another word, Vida disappeared into her quiet home, leaving him alone and smiling like an idiot on her doorstep._

Sam's eyes blinked open, and he let out a short gasp. What the hell was that? He sat up in his bed, pushing a hand through his hair. That hadn't been his own dream, that had been Crowley's. Which meant that Crowley had healed enough that he was no longer unconscious, but just asleep.

That wasn't just a dream, though. That had been a memory of Crowley's human life. Only this time, instead of him beating his son in a drunken rage, it was the first time that Crowley met who Sam recognized as his future wife. The flashback had been so poignant, so... consuming. He'd felt everything Crowley - Fergus? - had felt as if it were happening to him.

It was so strange to experience things from Fergus's point of view. Even though every demon was a human at one point, and Crowley had shown his human side more than once over the past few months, it was still hard to see Crowley as anything but the bordering on omniscient demonic king he'd known for years. Fergus MacLeod had been a completely different person, but somewhere in that man's heart had been the potential for Crowley, the King of Hell. That potential had been bled out in Hell, and the demon he knew had risen from it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself. He didn't like getting sucked into Crowley's head, but he'd rather sit through the good memories than the bad ones. He'd take a moonlit stroll over being tortured in Hell any day.

Sam checked the clock on his bedside table. It was just a little past seven in the morning. It had been three days since he, Bobby, and Crowley had returned to the bunker. Crowley had been unconscious for that entire time. Sam had enjoyed being back home and being with Dean, Cas, and Kevin again, even though they'd come back from the Middle East less than empty handed and Crowley was still in poor shape. Charlie had departed yesterday - apparently an old friend of hers in Portland had called in a favor, and she needed to take care of it. He wasn't sure how that was possible, as he thought Charlie had burned all of her contacts a long time ago. He'd liked having her around again, and she said she'd come back as soon as she could.

Sam debated his current options. It didn't take him long to come to a decision.

Really, he should let Crowley sleep, but he'd been feeling the King's absence strongly since they'd returned to the bunker, and he wanted to make sure that he was alright after how far he pushed himself the other day. Plus, he seriously doubted that he would be able to go back to sleep, now. Even if he did, he would probably just be dragged back into Crowley's head, and he was worried that the next memory of his human life wouldn't be as pleasant as the last.

Sam swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood, stretching his sore limbs. Quietly, he slipped out of his room and headed across the hallway to Crowley's. He assumed that the demon was sleeping, so he didn't bother knocking, instead just allowing himself in. Crowley was flipped onto his stomach, face buried in his pillow. Sam approached the demon, kneeling down next to him.

"Crowley?" he said the demon's name.

"Already awake," Crowley murmured sleepily, eyes still closed. "I woke up when you did."

"Oh." Sam wasn't fully sure how to respond.

"Did you see it?" They both knew what Crowley was referring to.

"I did."

Crowley was silent for a long moment. "I consider you my friend, Sam," he said, and both the statement and the sincerity in the demon's voice surprised him. "And as your friend, I'm asking you... _not_ to ask, alright? Regardless of what you may see in my weaker moments... _never_. That's one thing I won't talk about... not my human life."

"Crowley..."

"Please."

He didn't know how he could refuse when it was obviously something that pained Crowley so deeply that he wouldn't even speak about it.

"Okay," Sam said at length. "I won't."

He sensed a flood of gratitude from Crowley. "Thank you," he said softly.

Both of them were quiet for a few moments. "How are you feeling?" Sam eventually asked.

"Tired," Crowley replied, finally opening his eyes and meeting Sam's gaze. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days."

Crowley let out an irritated sigh. "Brilliant," he said sarcastically. "What happened? After we escaped Eden, it's all a bit... blurry."

"You managed to get us back to the bunker, and then you healed me before I could bleed out. After that, you passed out," he explained.

"Seems to be my typical method of exit these days. Bad habit, really," he said, some of his usual disposition seeming to return to him.

"If you hadn't done it, I probably would've died," Sam admitted. Crowley smirked at him.

"Another bad habit. You're a trouble magnet, you realize that?"

"The demons attacked all of us, not just me."

"Yes, but Bobby and I got out without holes poked through us, now didn't we?"

"Take a look at your thigh and then say that again," Sam said dryly. Crowley snorted.

"Please. That was barely a scratch."

"I had to suture it!"

Crowley rolled his eyes. He was out of bed in a blink - testing his powers, most likely - and beside Sam. Sam stood up as the demon pulled down his pants. Where the sutured injury had been, there was now just a faint pink line.

"Demon healing. Useful, on occasion. So, case in point; barely a scratch."

Sam looked away, but he couldn't help but chuckle. He'd missed Crowley over the past few days, and it was nice to have the demon awake again. "Okay, okay, fine. Just put your pants back on."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Crowley asked, arching a lecherous eyebrow and still smirking at him. "Want a strip tease, Moose?" the demon asked, wiggling his hips.

"Oh, God," Sam half-groaned, half-laughed. He pushed Crowley back onto the bed, pants still around his knees. "I liked you better when you were asleep."

"Now you're shoving me on the bed. Just dying to have your way with me, aren't you?"

"Shut up."

"That's not a denial," Crowley said in a sing-song voice. "We both know you have a thing for demons."

"Okay, that's just not fair."

"All's fair in love and war," Crowley replied mordantly. Crowley kicked off his pants and laid back on the bed, hands behind his head. "It's rather hot in here, isn't it?" He smiled at him, and even though he was wearing new skin, in that smile Sam recognized a hint of the grin that Fergus had given Vida on that night over three hundred years ago.

Crowley was messing with him, obviously, as was the demon's usual habit, but Sam couldn't help but stare. It was so rare that he saw Crowley bared in anyway. The demon wore a full suit at all times, even when he'd been searching through the desert in 110 degree heat for Eden.

And then he felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach, a spreading feeling of warmth as blood flooded south.

_Oh my God._

Sam immediately turned his back on Crowley and tried to throw up iron walls around his thoughts and feelings as best as he possibly could. He'd been practicing for months, but he still didn't have the same kind of mental fortitude that Crowley did. But Crowley could absolutely not, for any reason, know what he was thinking right now.

Crowley was half-naked and Sam was _actually turned on by it._

What the fuck was happening here?

Sam cleared his throat, hoping to God that Crowley hadn't noticed anything over their link. "Alright, uh, if the obnoxious sexual innuendos are over, do you want some breakfast?" The demon may have no biological need to eat, but after exhausting himself so much, it certainly wouldn't hurt for him to get some food in his system.

"Well, nearly getting killed by Abaddon tends to spoil my already non-existent appetite. Coffee would be appreciated, however."

"I'll make you some." Without looking at the demon, Sam quickly exited the room, his cheeks flushing somewhat spectacularly. He shut the door behind him, heading to the kitchen. Once there, he splashed ice cold water on his face, attempting to clear his head.

Really, he should've expected this. It wasn't even the fact that they spent so much time around each other, or the fact that he and Crowley got along remarkably well in spite of their past attempts at murdering one another. It was the connection that they'd formed in that church almost three months ago. It was the mental and emotional link that they shared, whether they liked it or not. They'd seen each others nightmares and dreams, seen parts of each other's lives that should've never left the dark closets they'd been stowed away in.

The bond they had was intimate, that went without saying. It only seemed logical that a kind of physical attraction would eventually come out of that, regardless of the fact that Crowley was a demon, or the fact that his meat suit and original gender was male.

He was surprised that instead of immediately fixating on the fact that Crowley was a man or the fact that he was once again having feelings for a demon - which had not turned out well at all the last time - he found that he was just... scared. Terrified, really. Because when Sam felt strongly about someone, it never turned out well. Just look at Jessica and Amelia. One was dead, and one utterly lost to him. The kind of pain he'd felt in both situations, that was something he never wanted to experience again. Handing over your heart to someone and then watching it go up in flames... there was nothing quite like it.

That was why he had shut himself off so completely from the idea of meeting someone, of settling down. Because he obviously wasn't made for that kind of life... and he wasn't sure if he could lose someone like that again.

And now this.

"What the hell am I gonna do?" he whispered to himself, toweling off his face. _Nothing,_ he answered himself. There was nothing to do. Maybe this was just a one-off. A fluke. Maybe he felt nothing but friendship for Crowley, and this was all just some freak reaction to his relief that the demon was alright.

They sounded like weak rationalizations, even to himself, but for now, they were all they had. He had the distinct feeling that he was going to get sucked even deeper into whatever this was. He didn't really have a choice.

For better or for worse, Crowley was a part of him, and there was no changing that.

* * *

Once he detected the scent of coffee in the air, Crowley exited his room (with his pants on), stretching like a cat. He detested those few hours after waking up – he always felt stiff and sore. He was grateful for the fact that he didn't have to sleep every single night. He didn't remember it being so unpleasant when he was human.

Being human… something he was recalling more and more. His past was slowly turning from fragments into a clearer picture, which wasn't something he was particularly happy about. Even the decent memories of his time as a human were tainted by the knowledge that everyone he had cared for while he was Fergus MacLeod was long dead, and of course how his human life eventually turned out in the end put a damper on things as well.

Vida Dunn. She'd been beautiful, she really had been – and he was fairly sure that he had loved her, when he'd been capable of such a thing. Thoughts of her were very bittersweet. She'd smelled like roses and made his heart beat a little too quickly in his chest, and she had kept him on his toes.

Sam reminded him of Vida. It was ridiculous comparison, but he couldn't help doing so. Perhaps not specifically in how they were as people, but in the way they made him feel. Except that Sam didn't smell like roses. Sam smelled like lemongrass. He didn't know if it was the hunter's shampoo, or just his natural scent.

Crowley sighed quietly to himself. Bloody feelings. That Moose was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it.

Crowley was distracted from his thoughts when he crashed headlong into someone rounding the corridor's corner. Crowley let out a grunt and went down, along with who he crashed into. The colloquial swearing and smell of Old Spice let him know that he'd collided with Dean.

Crowley pushed himself up quickly and offered his hand to Dean, who glared up at him before reluctantly accepting the help. Crowley easily pulled the larger man to his feet. Dean dusted himself off. The hunter looked like he'd just gotten up. He was clad in a pair of loose fitting sweat pants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Crowley idly wondered if Dean listened to any music from this century.

"Squirrel," Crowley greeted coolly.

"Crowley," he responded in a similar manner.

"Sorry about that. I was a bit distracted."

"Yeah, no kidding." The hunter scrutinized him. "How are you feeling?"

"How sweet of you to ask. I feel like a cavern system fell down on top of me. Oh wait, it did."

"Not before you burned down the Garden of Eden."

"I'm sure you've heard the saying, 'go down in a blaze of glory'? I took it to heart."

"Uh-huh. Well, whatever." Dean shuffled uncomfortably. "Good job not dying."

"It's a talent of mine."

Dean opened his mouth, and then shut it, seeming conflicted. "Alright, I'm going to do something, and we are never going to speak of it again, okay?"

"If this is you finally trying to jump my bones-"

"Shut up, Crowley," Dean said before he promptly pulled Crowley into a tight hug.

Oh. That was just… not right. Crowley was not a hugger. With Sam, perhaps, and with Gabriel – the archangel had always been the touchy-feely type – but that was about it when it came to people who were allowed in his personal space bubble.

"Thanks for watching out for Sam," Dean told him, voice low and sincere.

Ah. So that's what this was about. "I told you that I would protect him." When Dean didn't say anything in response, he reluctantly lifted a hand and patted the hunter awkwardly on the back. "Also, if you're considering grabbing my ass, don't start anything you can't finish," Crowley added, trying to break the tension.

Dean snorted and pushed him away. "Dick," he said, but without any real venom.

"Moron," Crowley retorted easily. "If our Lifetime moment of the day is over...?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're done." Dean turned his back on Crowley and headed for the kitchen. "Coffee's on."

With a faint smirk, Crowley followed behind him.


	52. With Ears to See and Eyes to Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the world's probably doomed, and Kevin reaches his breaking point.

"So, what you're saying is that we literally can do absolutely _nothing_ until Kevin decodes the second trial."

Dean grimaced, running a hand through his hair. "We can hunt."

"That's not good enough, Dean," Sam said, a little more loudly than he meant to. They'd been holding off on having this conversation for days, and now that it was happening, he could see why they'd both been subconsciously avoiding it.

"It's gonna have to be, Sam. I don't know what you want me to say."

"Kevin said he's getting very close to translating the remainder of the tablet. It isn't likely that we'll have to wait long to begin the second trial," Cas said from where he sat on the table in the library, at Dean's side as usual.

Sam was seated next to Crowley. Bobby was currently on a trip to Rufus's cabin to gather up his possessions that were still there - the hunter had nothing to his name at the bunker, since the things he'd bought after his revival were all abandoned in Riyadh, and Crowley had already called the hotel and been informed that their suite had been destroyed and all of their things were gone, which was no doubt Abaddon's doing. They would have to recount this conversation to Bobby once he returned.

"We're not exactly coming off of a great streak here, Kitten," Crowley said. "It would be nice to put something in the win column. At the moment, Moose and I are feeling positively inadequate."

Sam agreed with that; they'd wasted two months while the world went rolling downhill. It was anything but a good feeling.

"We're playing the waiting game," Dean said with an air of finality. "That's all we can do for it. I want to get out of here and fight those sons of bitches as bad as you do, Sammy, but we don't have any aces up our sleeves anymore. The only thing we can do to take down Xaphan and Queen Bitch is the trials. It sucks, but that's it."

"Theoretically, we could call Anthriel and ask if she requires us to do anything more for the angels in the interim," Cas pointed out. "But the possibility that Anthriel would send us on another suicide run is very likely."

"That's better than sitting around and doing nothing," Sam argued. "Plus, the angels need you. They're not going to risk your life. You're too valuable to them."

"And what exactly do you call Boston?" Dean asked tersely. "It's a miracle we both made it out of there alive."

"'Miracle' - is that we're calling it when I do something nice, nowadays?" Crowley asked dryly.

Before anyone could respond, Kevin abruptly entered the library, looking shaken down to the very core of his being. The four of them looked up expectantly. The prophet was clutching one of his numerous spiral notebooks to his chest. Whatever he was about to tell them, it certainly didn't look like it was going to be good news.

"What's up, Kev?" Dean asked, considering the frightened teen.

"I need you to look at this," Kevin said.

"Kay." Dean reached out a hand for the notebook, but the prophet surprised all of them by slamming it down in front of Crowley instead of handing it to Dean.

"Presents, Kevin? You shouldn't have," Crowley drawled, picking up the notebook.

"Can you read cuneiform?" Kevin demanded, refusing to meet the demon king's eyes.

"Of course. I can read all of the dead languages. One of my many talents," Crowley answered, peering down at the neatly etched symbols on the lined paper. Sam knew that Kevin often transliterated the tablet to cuneiform before trying to decipher it further, as he could work much longer with his notes than with the tablet itself, due to the massive migraines he received from reading the source material.

"What is this about?" Sam asked Kevin slowly, brow furrowed. Kevin looked legitimately freaked out.

"I need to make sure I understand exactly what the tablet says," Kevin said. "I... I really hope that I've got it wrong."

"What do you think it says?" Castiel asked warily.

Kevin opened up his mouth to speak, but words seemed to fail him and he instead closed his mouth with an audible _click_. He shook his head, focusing on Crowley's face, waiting for some kind of reaction from the demon.

When Crowley began reading, his expression had been one of nonplussed curiosity. As he continued, however, his lips thinned and his eyes widened significantly.

"This isn't possible," he murmured, biting down on his thumb nail as his eyes scanned over the ancient symbols. "It can't be."

"What?" Sam asked anxiously. "What is it?"

"Holy mother of sin," Crowley swore, dropping the notebook as if it had burned him. It landed on the surfaced of the table with a loud smack.

"I was right," Kevin said, a quaver in his voice as horror dawned on his features. "Oh God, I was right."

_"We're well and truly doomed now,"_ Crowley thought, the sentiment slipping through their bond unintentionally, allowing Sam to hear it. It was not a good sign that Crowley was so panicked that he wasn't able to fully maintain his walls.

"Will someone please share with the friggin' class and tell the rest of us what the hell is going on?" Dean snapped, looking between Crowley and Kevin.

_"Destroy it. Got to destroy it,"_ Crowley thought frantically, and he picked the notebook back up.

"Wait-" Sam reached out, anticipating what Crowley was about to do when he felt the familiar surge of energy through their connection. Before Sam could stop him, however, the notebook burst into bright orange-red flames. The searing hot fire burned it into ashes in seconds, black dust falling through Crowley's fingers. "What the hell, Crowley?" Sam demanded.

He felt something akin to terror coursing out of Crowley and in turn making his own heart beat faster in his chest as the King's anxiety took its toll on him. If this was unsettling Crowley like this, he didn't even want to imagine what the tablet might have said.

"No one can ever see that," Crowley explained in a low tone, almost urgently. "If that fell into the wrong hands, it would mean the end of everything for everyone, all planes of existence. As in, _finissimo_ , thank you, take your dinner mints and go – the _end_."

"Just tell us what the damn thing says!" Dean burst out angrily, quickly losing his patience with the demon.

Kevin took a deep breath. "The tablet says that-" Kevin began, but with a gesture of Crowley's hand, the prophet's tongue plastered itself to the roof of his mouth, preventing him from speaking.

"Alright Crowley, that tears it. Tell us what's going on right now or I _swear_ I will get a holy water spray bottle and go all 'bad kitty' on you."

"The truth, _now_ ," Cas tacked on.

"Don't you see?" Crowley asked, frustrated. "This is bigger than anything any of us has ever seen." He nodded down at the pile of ashes. "A million times bigger. No one can know what that tablet says. If he tells you three, then you can be tortured for the information, and no matter how strong you are, you're all still human, and humans can be broken."

"So, we're just supposed to take your word for it?" Cas asked, the condescension blatant in his words.

"What do I have to do to get you to bloody trust me!?" Crowley seemed to have to stop himself from screaming at the ex-angel. "I don't give a damn if you take my word for it or not," Crowley said after a deep breath. "It's the truth either way. There are some things best left in the dark – _forever_. Even Kevin and I knowing puts all of our worlds in more danger than you can imagine."

"Come on, Crowley, you've got to be able to tell us something," Sam said, trying to soothe the tense atmosphere in the room.

"I told you everything you need to know – if Xaphan or Abaddon got their hands on the notebook he just handed me, every world would end. We can't risk that information falling into anyone's hands." Crowley flicked his eyes to Kevin, who was glowering angrily at the demon, indignant at being forcibly silenced. "I'm going to allow you to speak now. If you try to say anything about what's on the tablet, I'll cut your tongue out. Do you understand me?"

Kevin gave Crowley the finger.

"A nod would've sufficed," Crowley said blandly. He snapped, and Kevin sucked in a deep breath.

"They deserve to know," the prophet said as soon as he was able.

"It doesn't matter what they deserve," Crowley replied. "This is just too big." The demon rose. "I need to speak with Laharl. Get an update on Xaphan and Abaddon's movements, see what their next target is. Maybe we can do something..." Crowley pursed his lips, and Sam felt worry pulsing from him. "Toodles." The King disappeared.

Dean immediately rose from his chair. "Well? What the hell does it say?"

Kevin gulped. "Look, the last thing in the world I want to do is agree with anything he says, but... he might be right. This might be too dangerous for you guys to know. I shouldn't have even let him see the notes; I just needed to know if I actually understood what the tablet was saying."

"Did you read ahead, or something?" Sam asked. "Does it have anything to do with the second trial?"

"This was kind of like an... an author's note," Kevin said. "Another one from Metatron. Just randomly thrown in after the second trial. I thought if I decoded it, I could use it as a kind of reference for translating the rest of the second trial. You know, kind of like a cryptogram," he explained. "I think Metatron put it in without God knowing, because I don't see why God would want something like that in the tablet."

"Metatron might've put that in to confuse anyone who was pursuing the trials. What you read might not even be true," Cas pointed out. Kevin just shook his head.

"I hope so, 'cause otherwise..." the teen trailed off, and the tone of his voice made Sam concerned. Very concerned.

It was the usual game: they asked if things could get any worse, and just as always, the answer was _yes._

* * *

Crowley returned from his meeting with Laharl in about as high a mood as he usually was in after he spoke with his only remaining loyalist. Things were the same as ever. Xaphan and Abaddon were painting the town red, thousands were dying on both sides, and the humans were screaming about the apocalypse and stocking up their basements with enough tomato soup to drown in.

He had the distinct feeling that things were going to get much worse before they had any hope of getting better. That always seemed to be how it went.

Crowley sighed, kicking off his shoes and making his way to the couch. He sank down, covering his eyes with his arm and taking a deep breath. This waiting was going to drive him insane. There was nothing to be done until Kevin cracked the remainder of the angel tablet, or at least the part containing the information on the second trial - then again, he couldn't claim to be particularly excited for any further discoveries on the ancient rock, as the last one had been so bone-chillingly terrifying.

He could never let anyone know. Even the rest of Team Free Will... even Sam, who he made an effort not to keep secrets from if he could avoid it. But in some (many) cases, secrets were needed. Secrets were safety, and right now, the only glue that held the universe together was the fact that only he and Kevin knew what was on that tablet. It was a true recipe for disaster... the recipe for the end of not just the Earth, but Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory as well.

The end of all things, and it was held in his hand. Knowing his luck, he shouldn't have been surprised.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a voice on the other side of the room. "I thought demons didn't need to sleep." Ah. Kevin. The brat had come out of his room, for once.

"I'm not sleeping," he responded, not moving his arm. "I'm resting. I assume you need something?" Kevin never spoke to him if he could avoid it, for obvious reasons.

"Yeah. Something else on the tablet... I don't think I understand it completely," he said. "I need you to come take a look at it."

"You're forgetting a very important word..."

"Fuck you, Crowley."

"That's three words, and I was looking for a please, but I suppose that's reaching." With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the couch and stood, stretching. "What is it that you don't understand? You're a sharp little tack; surely you don't need me to do your work for you."

"It's hard to explain. It'll be easier if I just show you," the prophet said in clipped tones. Without looking to see if he was following him, Kevin turned on his heel and strolled out of the lounge and into the foyer. With a roll of his eyes, Crowley tailed him.

_"Home,"_ he chimed to Sam as he walked in Kevin's footsteps. _"Where are you?"_

_"I'm out for a run. Want to come along? You can tell me what Laharl said."_

_"Rain check,"_ Crowley responded dismally. _"Nothing that we're not used to has gone on in the past few days, anyway. Plus, apparently the cutest little prophet needs my help with the God stone."_

_"Kevin asked you for help?"_

_"I'm just as shocked as you. Here's hoping he doesn't murder me when I have my back turned."_ Depressing as it was, he was only half-joking.

_"I can't believe I'm saying this, but... be careful."_

_"Careful is my middle name, Moose."_

Things had been a little uneasy between he and Sam since the day before. He'd seen the look in Sam's eyes when he'd been teasing him. At first he thought he'd just made the Moose uncomfortable - which was something he rather enjoyed doing, just because it was fun to watch him squirm - but after further consideration, he realized that it hadn't been discomfort. No, that had been interest. A very particular kind of interest; a kind he thought he would never see from Sam.

Once he started acting uneasy around Crowley and doing more to keep his walls up, his theory was confirmed. Sam had a bit of a gay moment. And, well... that was curious. _Very_ curious. Now the current question was whether to push further and see what reaction he could elicit out of the hunter, or to just allow things to sit and smolder. Really, with the current series of disasters they were dealing with, it was probably best to step back from any plan of slowly seducing Sam off of the road of heterosexuality. Now just wasn't the time for that. Not to mention... he was used to 'relationships' meaning very little and being only a means of release.

He and Sam almost shared a brain. With the two of them, whether they liked it or not... well, it would mean something. And he wasn't sure how he could possibly deal with something like that.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Problems for later.

Kevin opened his door and entered his room, and Crowley went in behind him. The lights were off. Before he could ask why the prophet's bedroom was pitch dark, the door slammed shut in his wake and he was shoved forward. The lamps flickered to life, and Crowley found himself in the center of a devil's trap. A fairly well-drawn one, as well. Three cheers for Kevin's artistic ability.

"Hmm," was all Crowley said as the teen glowered at him. "Well, I can't say this is unexpected. To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised that you waited this long."

"You have no idea what I'm going to do."

"You're going to kill me," Crowley told him, as if he were making some kind of vague comment about the weather. "I tore down your entire world. It was only a matter of time before you decided that living under the same roof as me wasn't something you could allow."

He didn't call for Sam to come stop Kevin from whatever he was about to do; he probably should've, because he saw now that Kevin had an angel blade in his hand. God only knew where he'd found that. He'd probably stolen Dean's, somehow.

"Believe it or not, it's not even that," Kevin said in a low voice. "I mean, I've wanted to kill you since the day you walked in here. Because... you're evil." _Don't I know it._ "Because you took everything away from me, and you're a demon. But I didn't. I didn't, because the Winchesters needed you. First to keep Sam alive, and then to do the trials. And I was going to let you live until you stopped being useful." He turned the blade in his hand, swallowing. "But I can't wait. Not now. Not when you know what's on the tablet."

"Using my own logic against me," Crowley said. "No one can know the little prophecy you discovered. No one can know about the fourth tablet." Crowley frowned. "Leviathan, Angel, Demon... and Man. Should've seen that coming, really. Not the biggest plot twist, but certainly a troubling one, given what's on it."

"If the wrong person gets ahold of that tablet, and finds a way to translate it - probably by killing me and using one of the other prophets - it's over."

"Oh, I know."

"I think you're the wrong person, Crowley," Kevin said, saying his name for the first time in a very, very long time. "I think as soon as you get what you want, you're going to turn on us. And with what you know-"

"I'm going to have to cut you off there," Crowley said. "You're not stupid, Kevin. You know that all I ever wanted was to keep Hell in check, and keep it to myself. As long as I have Hell, I'm happy. What would the Man tablet do for me, hmm? Not a bloody thing. Why tear it all down? Why give up my kingdom?"

"Because you're an evil, power hungry bastard and if you sent everything spiraling into chaos you could take control," the prophet answered, not missing a beat. "You could take it all over."

"The Angel Tablet says that the spell on the Man Tablet will break down the barriers between Heaven, Hell, Earth, and Purgatory. That means the universe basically collapsing in on itself, the humans getting put on the bottom of the food chain, and a complete war that would most likely end with every living thing getting burned to a crisp along with everything else that's ever existed _ever_. It would be cataclysmic. It would be... words cannot _describe_ what it would be like. You may not think very highly of me, but I _like_ the world. I like humanity - just look at how good they are at damning themselves - and I have no interest in seeing that all destroyed. None at all."

"You expect me to believe that? To believe that you're just gonna sit on information like this and not do anything with it?" Kevin demanded, taking a step forward, but not close enough to cross the outer line of the devil's trap.

"Be smart, Kevin. You were going to go to Princeton once, weren't you?" Crowley tilted his head. "People don't do things that are directly counterintuitive to what they want. Not even 'evil villains' like yours truly."

Wasn't it said that villains never saw themselves as villains? What exactly did that make him, then?

"You'll still stab us all in the back," Kevin said angrily. "Even if you keep this quiet, you're still going to turn on us. You'll be after me again, after the Winchesters. You've somehow managed to convince the others that you're different, that you've changed, but I see straight through you. You're a monster."

"Do you think I'm going to argue with you?" Crowley asked in a monotone. "I'm not. I'm a monster, I'm evil, I've sinned enough to damn myself for the rest of... well, forever. I've got so much blood on my hands that I can't even see the skin anymore. I haven't changed..." He looked away from the prophet. "But I am trying. Whatever you think of me, it doesn't change the fact that I am trying to be better than what I was before. I have humanity in me, Kevin. I don't like it and you don't think it's there, but it _is_ there."

"Shut up." Kevin lifted the blade. "Just shut the hell up. Your head games aren't going to work on me. Not anymore."

"There aren't any head games left to play. I don't think you're going to kill me. Actually, I know you're not."

"You don't know anything about me!"

"Oh, but I do. Because I hunted you, and I've never made the mistake of not knowing what I'm hunting. And you, Kevin Tran, are not a man who would kill someone with humanity inside of them," Crowley said, finally meeting Kevin's eyes, which were dark with rage. Suddenly, Kevin crossed into the devil's trap and put the angel blade to Crowley's throat. His breathing was hard, and his nostrils were flared.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of," Kevin growled. "None."

"Don't do this," Crowley said softly. "And I'm not telling you that because I think you shouldn't kill me - because really, in your position, I would - but don't do this because you shouldn't cross this line. I'm not worth it, not worth the taint on your soul. You're good, Kevin. You're a good man, and though I may not be better than this, you are."

_"Are you okay? You're anxious."_ Sam in his head. Well, at least if he was going to die, he would hear the hunter's voice before the lights went out.

_"I'm fine. Brilliant. Nothing I can't handle."_

_"Crowley-"_

He threw up his walls, blocking Sam out as seconds ticked by with the angel blade still pressed to his jugular. He could see the struggle on Kevin's face. He knew that everything inside of the prophet was raging to kill him, but it would be the prophet's heart that would be his undoing; Kevin didn't have it in him to murder him. Once upon a time, Crowley would've interpreted that as weakness. He knew that not to be true, now.

Finally, after Crowley began to wonder if he'd misjudged the prophet and he really was about to die, Kevin stepped away, dropping his weapon to the ground with a clatter and a sharp sigh. "Damn it." The prophet's eyes were glistening with tears. "I hate you," he said, voice breaking. "I hate you, and I can't even kill you."

"I know," Crowley said softly, agreeing with both statements. "And that's what makes you strong."

Instead of responding, Kevin merely scraped the toe of his tennis shoe through the outer line of the devil's trap. Without another word, he pushed past Crowley and exited his own bedroom, leaving the door hanging open behind him. Crowley looked down at the devil's trap. The thing was, Kevin hadn't even needed to break it. He'd accidentally skewed one of the symbols inside of the pentacle. Even the smallest flaw could be exploited, and Crowley was never actually halted by the trap. He decided not to analyze why he'd stayed in his false prison.

Crowley sighed heavily. "Bollocks."


	53. Bullet With Butterfly Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean and Cas are basically married.

It was one week before any of them saw Kevin again. They left meals outside of his room - and they were eaten - but none of them saw the prophet leave his room, and he refused to answer his door. For the time being, Kevin's bedroom was his desert, and none of them were welcome inside.

Castiel was starting to get restless. He, Sam, and Dean had been trying to find a case to occupy themselves, but for once, there was nothing in their part of the country that needed addressing. There was something that looked like a kitsune in Maine, but to drive all of the way to the other side of the country on a weak lead when Kevin could decode the second trial at any moment didn't seem like a particularly good idea.

He and Dean were in the lounge, continuing their ritual of his 'Lessons in Humanity' as Dean called it. He wasn't sure about this _Breaking Bad,_ but Dean seemed to enjoy it, so he didn't complain. Sam and Crowley were doing research in the library. Bobby was in room 7B, updating some of the Letters files with information that the hunting community had learned after the fall of the organization.

"Guys."

The two of them looked away from the TV. Kevin stood a few feet away, a notebook tucked under his arm. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was a disaster, and he seemed as though he was seconds away from falling over. Dean immediately sat up straighter, and so too did Cas.

"I was beginning to think you'd died in there and some squatter was taking your food," Dean said. "You look like hell, kid. And trust me, I would know."

"Yeah, I know," Kevin said. "But that doesn't matter right now. I've looked at the second trial every which way, hoping that I'd somehow gotten the translation wrong, but I didn't. It's completely clear... I know what you have to do for the next trial."

"Well, don't beat around the bush - what's the tablet say?"

The hopeless expression on Kevin's face was not reassuring Cas. "Basically... we have to make an angel," Kevin said. "Like, create one."

Cas and Dean stared at Kevin with matching blank looks. "Create an angel?" Castiel repeated. "That isn't possible. Only God can create an angel. They are higher beings. For a human to _make_ an angel would be to take away the very thing that makes an angel angelic - their inherent divinity."

"Don't kill the messenger." Kevin held up his hands. "It's just what it says. Of course, it doesn't give any instructions, which would have been helpful. I don't know whether God just likes being vague or if Metatron edited out some of what was supposed to be in the second trial."

"All those months and all you've got is 'make an angel'?" Dean asked, frustrated. "What the hell are we supposed to do with that, huh?"

"I don't know!" Kevin snapped. "All I can tell you is what I've read on the tablet. The rest is up to you to figure out. And sorry it took so long, I kind of had to decode the apocalyptic prophecy first."

Dean could see that he angered the prophet, and he took a deep breath. "Alright, alright. Sorry. I'm just getting fed up with the Big Guy Upstairs and His crap," he said. He ran a hand through his hair. "You got any brilliant ideas, Cas?"

"I..." Cas frowned deeply. "The only way a human body can contain angelic Grace is if they were born into a vessel bloodline. Theoretically, I suppose you could somehow... extract the Grace of an angel and implant it into a human... but there's no guarantee that without the stability of the angel's conscious, that it wouldn't just overwhelm the vessel and cause them to melt from the inside out."

"So we could make you an angel again?" Dean asked. Cas shook his head. If only it were that simple.

"In order to complete the remainder of the trials, I have to stay human. And as I said, this is all acting on a hypothetical basis. I have no idea if we could actually turn a human into an angel. It would require not only ripping the Grace out of an angel - thus rendering them powerless and mortal - but also performing what could be an incredibly fatal experiment on a human."

"If it's the only way we can do the second trial, we're gonna have to figure out a way to get it done," Dean said. "Find a human and an angel who feel like volunteering for some angelic Frankenstein thing."

"We'll need a human vessel and an angel who's willing to sacrifice their Grace," Cas surmised. "Although I loathe to say it, we will require my sister's assistance for this."

"Yeah, maybe Anthriel will volunteer," Dean said, the sarcasm obvious in his tone.

"I doubt that," Cas said. "But she will be of assistance, I'm sure... but I believe we should handle the human aspect of this ourselves."

"Dean and Sam are both angel vessels, aren't they?" Kevin inquired. "Couldn't we just turn one of them?"

"You make it sound like changing your friggin' socks, man," Dean said. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to be an angel. No sleeping and no eating? That's like, two of the three things that make life tolerable."

"Well, technically you can still do all of those things, you just have no biological requirement to do so," Cas told him. "I understand, however, that neither you nor Sam would have any interest in becoming angels. Not to mention, I refuse to put either of you at risk like that. Nothing is worth losing the two of you, even reopening the gates."

Dean blinked, seeming surprised by the statement. "Huh. Thanks, Cas."

Cas wondered if Dean would ever understand the true extent of his care for him. It was actually frightening how much he would be willing to sacrifice in order to keep Dean and Sam alive. They were his family, after all. The closest he'd ever had to a real one, anyway. "Do not mention it."

"If you two are done with your man-love moment...?" Kevin asked somewhat exasperatedly. "We need an angel vessel. Do you guys know any that aren't occupied?" he asked.

Dean looked at him, and Cas knew exactly what he was thinking. "No, Dean," he said immediately. "Absolutely not."

"But we know that she's-"

"I said _no_ , Dean," he cut off the hunter, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. "I swore to Jimmy that I would keep his family safe. In no way, shape, or form is trying to turn Claire Novak into an angel fall under the category of protecting her from harm."

Dean purse his lips, seeming to search for an argument. "We could just talk to her," Dean said. "See if it's something she would be willing to do. Leave it completely up to her."

"It would do poor respect to Jimmy's memory to put his daughter in grave danger," Cas replied stiffly.

"Yeah, but if this thing works, then really, wouldn't she be better off?" Dean countered. "If we actually manage to turn her into an angel, then she'll be super powerful, immortal - she'd be as safe as angelically possible."

"You are operating on a lot of ifs, Dean."

"Aren't we always?" Dean asked tiredly. "Look, let's talk to the others first, then meet with Anthriel and see about the angel side of things... then we'll worry about Claire."

"We're not using Claire."

Dean didn't respond, merely rose from the couch and went to the library. Cas sighed. Kevin looked almost amused.

"You two have kind of turned into a married couple," Kevin pointed out.

"Dean and I share no marital bond. If I am not mistaken, it is illegal for two men to marry in this state."

"The Winchesters haven't taught you what a metaphor is yet, have they?"

Damn it. Another metaphor. He was still learning to grasp the many nuances of human language. Why couldn't they just speak plainly and make their meaning clear? Everything was always hidden in sarcasm and word play.

"Ah. No, I understand your meaning." Cas rose to his feet. "Dean is very frustrating, sometimes."

"I know. But you guys, you're good together. Whatever you are," Kevin said.

Cas narrowed his eyes at the prophet. "I am unsure of what you are implying, but the relationship between Dean and I is purely platonic."

"Right." Kevin did not sound convinced. "It's none of my business." He flicked his eyes to the door. "Come on, the others are probably waiting for us."

The prophet disappeared out of the room, and Cas followed behind him, wondering not for the first time that if everyone else thought there was something between he and Dean, if they were not imagining things, but rather seeing what perhaps the two of them were too blind to realize.

* * *

Dean sat on a bale of hay in the abandoned barn that had become his typical place to meet with Anthriel. He still didn't trust the bitch enough to call on her while he was in the bunker, even if the angels already knew where it was. Cas leaned against the wall nearby, looking about as pleased as he usually was to meet with his sister.

"Anthriel," Cas called. "Come to us. We have news."

The angel appeared in front of them almost instantaneously. "Well?" He could tell that Anthriel was irritated with them. She probably hadn't been too pleased that they'd warned Bobby, Crowley, and Sam that they were being watched. Now that they were all heavily warded against angels, there was no way for her to track them anymore.

"Sam, Crowley, and Bobby located Eden," Cas told her, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Where is it?" she asked immediately.

"Doesn't matter where it is," Dean said. "Place is gone. So is Joshua."

"What!?" the angel exclaimed. "Explain yourselves. Now."

"They found Eden - it was in a secret cave or something over in the Middle East. Problem is, Abaddon and her demons crashed the party. They fought, place went up in smoke, and then Joshua collapsed the cavern in on itself. We're guessing he's dead, and the Garden either moved onto somewhere else, or is just destroyed."

"The Garden of Eden is _destroyed_?" Anthriel said slowly.

"Yep," Dean answered. "But no use in crying over burnt down holy sites, right? We've got bigger things to deal with: we've got the second trial," Dean told her. "And we could use a little help with it. Time to hold up your end of the bargain."

"I've yet to see you do anything for this arrangement, Winchester."

"Need we remind you of what we did for you in Boston?" Cas challenged her. "If you want to be able to return to Heaven, you're going to have to help us. The second trial is much more complex than the first - not necessarily in nature, but in the manner in which it must be executed." Cas took a deep breath. "The second trial says that we must create a Heavenly being... an angel. A task which we're not sure is even able to be accomplished. Your input would be very appreciated."

"Create an angel." The angel's expression went blank. "That isn't possible."

"If it wasn't possible, then God wouldn't have told Metatron to write it," Dean argued. "It's gotta be doable. We're just gonna have to get creative."

"We're currently of the belief that we might be able to turn an angelic vessel into an angel if we somehow transfer an angel's Grace into them - just the Grace, not the angel's astral form," Castiel explained.

"You want to steal an angel's Grace and give it to a human?" she said, looking outraged.

"You got any better ideas?" Dean asked gruffly. "We're just spit-balling here. Fact is, we're flying blind. This is the only way that we've figured out that could give us the end product we need."

Anthriel seemed to stew for a few moments. Really, the angel didn't have a choice. If she wanted to go home, then she would have to help them. "I will speak to the rest of the Host," she said. "If any of them are willing to do this, then we will proceed. I will leave it up to your discretion which human you wish to be the receptacle of the Grace. However, allow me to make this clear: if you succeed in creating an angel, they will immediately be handed over to us for proper training."

Dean exchanged a glance with Cas. The ex-angel seemed just as wary of handing anyone over to Anthriel as he was. "How about we leave that up to whoever we turn?" he offered.

"Absolutely not. The angels can't afford a risk like that."

"What risk is one angel?" Cas argued.

She looked at them like they were complete idiots, a look he was used to only receiving from Crowley. "I'm sorry, you do realize that all of the Host's problems throughout the entirety of history have always been because of one angel? Whether it be Lucifer, Raphael, you-" She glared pointedly at Castiel. "Metatron, and now Xaphan. One angel can be _very_ dangerous."

Okay, Dean couldn't really disagree with her there. "Okay, fine. How soon can you get us an angel?"

"Call me again once you've procured a human receptacle," Anthriel told him. "By then, I will hopefully have an angel willing to do this for the sake of the Host."

"Yeah, well, fingers crossed," Dean said dryly.

"Are we done, then?" Anthriel asked.

"Yes-" Cas began, but before the angel could say more than one word, Anthriel was gone.

* * *

"Cas, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I think Jimmy's kid is our best bet," Bobby said. The five of them had been discussing what to do about the second trial over dinner. Dean and Castiel had picked up Chinese on the way back to the bunker. "At least she knows what she is. She wouldn't be going into something that she's totally clueless about. I ain't exactly jumping to throw some teenager into his mess, but if we gotta do it, we gotta do it."

"Jimmy would not want this," Cas reaffirmed, not for the first time. Dean sighed.

"We know, man, but Jimmy's up and moved on, and we have to focus on the now. And right now? We need a vessel who might actually help us and not run screaming from us when we ask them to let us turn them into an angel. Claire already knows who we are and what we do. She might help, if we explain everything to her-"

"She's a child, Dean!"

"If I'm doing my math right, she's eighteen - she's old enough to make her own decisions."

"Is she old enough to die?" Cas countered. "Because really, that's what we're talking about. If the implanted Grace doesn't immediately kill her, then Anthriel will put her on the front lines, and one of Xaphan and Abaddon's soldiers will slaughter her. Do you want her blood on your hands?"

"I hate to be the Machiavellian one here almost as much as I hate to agree with Squirrel, but in this case, the ends really do justify the means," Crowley said. "We've already established that there's something very wrong with our flow of information, yes? Someone found out about Eden, and it wasn't from us - means that there's someone with very loose lips among Anthriel and Nisroc's forces. Since you two deemed it necessary to tell her the details of the second trial, that's likely going to put every vessel on the planet at risk, including Jimmy's dear daughter. At this point, it would be more a case of us rescuing her than damning her to a probably short life as an angel," the demon reasoned.

"There isn't a leak with the angels. Why would any of them turn traitor?" Cas asked tersely.

"Fear," Sam answered for Crowley. "Angels aren't all that different from people, Cas. If they think that Xaphan's got a better chance of coming out of this on top, they might defect."

Cas fumed quietly, stabbing at his kung pao chicken with perhaps unnecessary force. "I am uncomfortable with this."

"We know, Cas, and we're sorry," Dean told him, and he was sincere when he said it. He wished there was a different way they could go about this, but the fact was, Claire was their best shot. "But we gotta do this. We have to finish this before there's no world left to save."

Eventually, Cas nodded dimly. "Fine."

Dean frowned. "Okay. Now that we've got that settled... when do we go talk to her?"

"If we leave when we wake up tomorrow, we could probably get there before the sun goes down," Sam said.

"Who all is going on this road trip?" Bobby asked.

"I was thinking you, me, and Sammy," Dean said. "There's no reason for all of us to go. Even if we run into demon trouble, we'll be enough to handle it."

"You want me to stay behind?" Cas asked, sounding slightly wounded.

"How do you think Claire's gonna react to seeing her father, and then realizing that it's still just the angel that's possessing him - and that his soul's actually gone and in Heaven already?" Dean asked lowly. "If we want to convince her to help us out, then it's better if you're not along for the ride."

"And I'll be remaining behind, because after the Novaks last experience with demons, I'm the very last thing they're going to want to see," Crowley surmised. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, pretty much." Dean shrugged. "We won't be gone more than a couple days, tops. You two can keep from killing each other for that long, right?"

Cas and Crowley exchanged a look that made Dean wonder if leaving the two of them alone was a good idea, after all.


	54. Bad Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas and Crowley bond over British television, and Claire remembers the Winchesters a little too well.

"It's only a few days," Sam told him. "You'll be fine."

"I don't suppose you remember what happened the last time I was alone with Castiel?" Crowley asked dryly as the hunter finished packing his duffel. "I seem to recall my hand scrambling around somewhere in his intestines. I'm sure Cas remembers. Vividly."

"Crowley," Sam sighed the demon's name, zipping up his bag. Sam turned and put both of his hands on Crowley's shoulders, looking him in the eye. "You are a grown man - demon, whatever - and you are perfectly capable of being alone in the bunker with Cas while we're gone. If everything goes okay, we'll be back by tomorrow night."

"You see, you're assuming that everything is going to be okay. What show have you been watching, exactly?"

For some reason, Sam smiled at him. "You're nervous."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You are!" Sam insisted. "You're nervous because you actually care about what Cas thinks of you."

"That's- that's not-" Crowley, for once, couldn't think of a decent comeback.

Another thing his blasted humanity had done to him; it had returned his lingering sentiment for Castiel and cranked it up to ten. Although he was still less than pleased about the angel's betrayal, he hadn't been the best to the angel over the years, either. He'd wanted to crush Castiel underneath his teeth for a long time, but really, when it came down to it... he liked the bloody feather duster.

Sam trusted and cared for him, he knew that. It's not like the giant could hide much from him, anyway. Dean tolerated him for Sam's sake and was even beginning to have perhaps a vague amount of trust in him. Bobby put up with him and they exchanged witty banter. Kevin passionately hated him but was too good of a person to kill him in cold blood.

He knew where he stood with everyone on Team Free Will... except for Cas.

"Nothing's going to go wrong, Crowley. You don't even have to be around him if you don't want to. Cas doesn't need someone to hold his hand."

"I don't want to just sit around here on my thumbs, Moose."

Before Sam could respond, Dean called for his brother. "Sammy! Come on, we're waiting on you!"

To Crowley's shock, Sam gave him a brief hug, leaning down and wrapping his arms around the demon's shoulders. "I gotta go."

Crowley wasn't used to Moose hugs except in moments of dire need. Although he was caught off-guard, he reacted quickly, putting his arms around Sam's back. "Are we going to have a good cry before you go, too?"

"Shut up, Crowley." Sam released him with an amused snort, grabbing his duffel bag.

"I'll see you out." He walked with Sam to the foyer, where Bobby and Dean were waiting with their bags.

"Be safe, all of you," Cas said. "Call when you reach Pontiac."

"Got it," Dean replied. He flicked his eyes between Cas and Crowley. "Don't kill each other, alright?"

"I have no interest in killing him," Cas deadpanned.

"Always the romantic, aren't you, Kitten?" Crowley smirked at the ex-angel, who did not seem amused by his comment. "Ditto from me. Don't get dead."

"We'll try not to," Bobby said gruffly. "Come on, daylight's wastin'."

Bobby led the way up the stairs, and Dean and Sam followed behind him. The door shut behind the three hunters, leaving Cas and Crowley quite alone in the foyer. Crowley shuffled, glancing sideways at Cas, who was staring somewhat forlornly at the door that Dean had just disappeared through.

_"You're a right bastard, you know that?"_ Crowley asked Sam in his mind.

_"I've only been gone ten seconds, Crowley. What's wrong?"_ Sam responded.

_"What am I supposed to do with Cas for two days, exactly?"_

Cas turned away with a small sigh. He made a move to head toward the library.

_"I don't know. Find some common ground, or something."_

_"You are astoundingly unhelpful."_

"Castiel," Crowley called after the ex-angel. Cas looked back at him.

"Yes?" he asked curtly.

"Have you ever watched _Doctor Who_?"

* * *

_Twelve hours later..._

"You remind me of Captain Jack," Cas said through a mouthful of pizza. Although Crowley much preferred finer foods when he chose to eat, pizza was a bit of a guilty pleasure for him. He'd ordered two larges, both with pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese for their dinner.

"Is that so?" Crowley asked, adjusting his feet on Cas's lap. The ex-angel had yet to complain about the position, so he didn't have any intention of moving in the near future.

At present, he and Cas were watching the series one finale of the _Doctor Who_ reboot, and luckily, Cas seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Though things had been tense at first after the Winchesters and Bobby departed, the ice that had built up between the two of them had finally started to thaw over the course of their day together.

They'd almost been friends, once upon a time. Loathe as he was to admit it, he missed that.

"Mmm, yes," Cas said, swallowing the last of his crust. "Omnisexual. Irreverent. Out for himself, but slowly changing his nature."

"Don't forget charming and devastatingly handsome," Crowley tacked on, running a hand down Aziraphale's spine (the plump cat was napping on his stomach) as he took another piece of pizza from the box on the coffee table. "That John Barrowman. Phew."

"He is handsome," Cas commented. "He has a very strong chin."

Crowley snorted in amusement. "Well, if I'm Jack, then you're the Doctor."

Cas furrowed his brow. "I fail to see the resemblance."

"He just screwed over his entire species and ran off with a human. Sound familiar?" Crowley arched an eyebrow at him. "Plus, you've both got the intense blue-eyed stare going on. You should try v-necks and leather, you know."

"I prefer what I wear now. Does that make Dean Rose, as he was the one I 'ran off' with?" Cas asked, utilizing air quotes.

"Obviously. She's got the same fire as him, the stubbornness, and she's the only one who can save the Doctor's ass when he needs it. Not to mention the goo-goo eyes she's always making at him."

"Dean doesn't make... _goo-goo eyes_ at me."

"Are you literally blind? Of course he does. Almost as often as you do it to him," Crowley said dismissively. Was the former angel really that oblivious?

"I don't-"

"I could always see right through you, Cas. I've been telling you that you're barmy for Squirrel for years, haven't I?"

When they'd worked together for those two years, Crowley had often teased Cas about his obvious feelings for Dean. Cas had eventually given up on arguing with him about it and just started throwing him dirty looks whenever he brought it up.

"There is nothing between Dean and I. He is my best friend, yes, but nothing more than that," Cas said, averting his eyes. His tell - it was an obvious one, too. Not to mention the fact that it sounded like Cas had said that line more than once.

"Yeah, that's why you snuggle up with him every night. Nothing dodgy going on there, right?"

Cas's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pink in response. "I have difficulties sleeping on my own, there's nothing more to it than that."

"Difficulties," Crowley echoed. Dean had said that the ex-angel had nightmares when he caught the two of them in bed together. Would Cas tell him the same thing?

Cas's lips thinned. "Since I lost my Grace, I've been troubled by nightmares," Cas informed him reluctantly. "If I sleep by myself, they are... infinitely worse."

Well, that was something he could empathize with, at the very least.

"So, that's it, eh?" Crowley decided not to dwell on the topic of Cas's night terrors, as the subject seemed to make Cas incredibly uncomfortable. He didn't want to jeapoardize the fragile peace between the two of them. "There's nothing there at all, no butterflies, no... _spark_? Just friends?"

"Yes," Cas answered forcefully.

_Lie,_ Crowley thought. "Lying to yourself is the worst sin of all, darling."

Cas glared at Crowley.

"You do realize that you can't actually pierce me with your stares?" Crowley asked, smirking at the ex-angel.

"Why don't we talk about you and Sam?" Cas inquired, his tone one of false innocence. "You've been very... attached, lately."

"Oh-ho, turning this around on me now, are you? You've done me proud," Crowley chuckled. "Please. We're practically sharing a brain at the moment. We're attached to each other whether we like it or not."

"So, you don't have romantic feelings for Sam?"

Crowley promptly ignored him and pointed at the screen. "Oh, look at that. The Doctor and Rose are snogging. Let's hope life imitates art, shall we?"

"You're evading the question, Crowley."

"I have absolutely no unclean thoughts directed towards Jolly Green whatsover. Happy?" No, everything was perfectly clean inside of his mind. Especially the shower fantasies. Those were extra-clean.

"You're lying," Castiel said, a knowing glint in his eye.

"Am I? And how would you know?"

"The corners of your lips twitch," Cas informed him in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Do not."

"And now you're being defensive. That's interesting." Cas smirked at him. Crowley felt a vein throbbing in his forehead. "What is it? Do you not like me making assumptions about your personal thoughts and feelings? Or am I simply getting too close to the truth for comfort?"

Cas really had been spending too much time around the lot of them. He was getting far too good at being a sarcastic ass.

Crowley gave Cas a withering look, then threw a piece of sausage at the ex-angel. It hit him square on the forehead, leaving a small mark of marinara sauce in its place. Cas, disgruntled, plucked it from where it had fallen on his shirt and chucked it at Crowley's face. He dodged it nimbly, but his movement sent Aziraphale to the floor with a plaintive meow.

"Very mature, Cas."

"You threw it first!" he protested. Crowley, unable to help himself, laughed at Cas's petulance.

"Shut up and watch the bloody show, Kitten."

* * *

"Lucky thing that they still live in the same town," Bobby commented. "I'd thought that they would've moved on by now."

"Hiding in plain sight, I guess," Sam said. "At least they switched houses." They'd tracked the Novaks from their bill of sale on their old house, and found that they had moved to a suburb on the opposite side of the city. A house which they were currently parked in front of.

"They are _not_ going to like seeing us." Dean cut the Impala's engine. "Last time they saw us, they had to watch Jimmy bleed out. Amelia got possessed... Cas rode around in Claire. Really, it was just a bad couple of days."

"Time heals all wounds," Bobby said with a frown. "We ain't got a choice, so here's hoping they don't slam the door in our faces."

Bobby climbed out of the backseat, and Dean and Sam followed him. He led the way up to the doorway, and neither of the Winchesters stopped him from taking the lead. The Novaks wouldn't recognize Bobby, so maybe they wouldn't immediately associate them with their lost husband/father.

Once they reached the Novaks front porch, Bobby knocked on the door. They waited for a few minutes, but heard no sound from within the house. Bobby tried again, knocking harder. Dean rang the doorbell.

"Maybe they're not home," Sam suggested.

"Car's in the driveway," Dean and Bobby chorused.

The three of them froze as they heard the sound of several dead bolts unlocking on the other side of the door. After a few moments, the front door peaked open, and a young woman's head was visible through the crack. She had dirty blonde hair down to her mid-back, and familiar eyes the color of clear blue sky. Eyes which widened in horror when she saw Sam, Dean, and Bobby.

"Oh, _hell_ no," she said immediately.

"I guess that means you remember us?" Dean asked, giving her a winning smile. She glared at him.

"I've spent every day for seven years trying to forget," she snapped out in response. "MOM!" she yelled over her shoulder. Mere seconds later, Amelia Novak materialized next to her daughter, looking harried and holding a spray bottle of what he would guess to be holy water.

"We're not demons, Mrs. Novak," Sam chimed from next to him.

"Funnily enough, I think that's what a demon would say," the woman responded. "What do you want?"

"Believe it or not, we need a favor," Dean said. "From you, Claire."

"Let me guess," Claire growled. "Castiel needs a new meat suit, and I'm the only one on the rack."

Geez. Claire had really gained some fire since the last time he'd seen her. "Cas's wings got clipped – it's a long story. Point is, we're not asking you to be an angel puppet. It's a little more complicated than that."

"Hell of a lot more complicated," Bobby tacked on. "If you'll let us past the doorway, we can explain what happened."

"Holy water first," Amelia commanded, gently pushing her daughter behind her.

"Fine. Hit me with it." Dean tapped his cheek. Amelia promptly sprayed him in the face. He spluttered slightly before drying up the moisture with his sleeve. She then repeated the process with Sam and Bobby. Once she saw that none of them had any reaction to the holy water, she sighed heavily.

"Let them in, Claire," she said quietly. Claire undid the remainder of the locks. She and her mother both stepped back, allowing them entry.

The three of them filed in. The house was neatly kept and smelled like vanilla scented candles. Amelia and Claire walked down the hallway, not looking to see if Dean, Sam, and Bobby were following behind them. They trailed them into a cozy kitchen, where Claire sat down at the table and crossed her arms, looking up expectantly at them. Amelia, meanwhile, went to the coffee maker and flicked it on.

"First things first," Claire said in a firm tone. "Where is my dad?"

Dean exchanged a glance with his little brother as the three of them sat down at the kitchen table. They hadn't really discussed how to break the news to Amelia and Claire that Jimmy was long gone. "Well..."

"He's dead, isn't he?" she cut him off. He could see tears in her eyes. "I knew it."

"Cas has been through a lot in the past couple years. He died a few times, actually. Somewhere around... uh, death number three or so... Jimmy's soul moved on. We figure he's up in Heaven, now," Dean explained, trying to be gentle.

"And that angel is still in his body?" Amelia asked, a tremble in her voice. Her eyes were downcast, and she gripped the edge of the counter, as if holding onto it for support. "Castiel..."

"Yes," Sam said. "Cas is alive, and he's in Jimmy's body. He's not an angel anymore, though. He's human."

"He's human?" Claire asked. "How is that even possible?"

"Heaven's been having problems for awhile," Dean told them. "One of the angels got uppity and did a spell that kicked all of the angels out and sent 'em down to Earth. One of the ingredients was Cas's Grace. He got it ripped out of him, and now he's full-on human. Eating, sleeping, mortal... human."

"And now, all of the angels are running around the planet, picking fights with the demons," Bobby added. "And they're wrecking the world in the process."

"Is that why everything's been falling apart around the world?" Claire asked. "The attack on Cleveland, Tampa getting leveled, all the riots in London... is that because of the fighting?"

"Hit the nail on the head, kid," Dean told her. "Everything's going downhill, and we've been trying to figure out a way to stop it."

"And this is the part where my daughter comes in," Amelia said, lips thinning. The coffee maker dinged, and she scrounged in the cupboards for several mugs. "God only knows what you want with her."

"Right now, the angels are locked out of Heaven," Sam said. "We need to get them back home and stop the evil angel that's riled up the demons. The only way to do that is to perform a set of trials that will reopen the gates. Cas has taken on the trials. We already finished the first one, but now we're on the second task."

"Which is?" Claire asked.

"Create an angel," Dean informed her as Amelia sat a mug of hot coffee down in front of him. "Like, take a human... and turn them into an angel. The reverse of what happened to Cas. The problem is, we don't really know for sure how to get that done."

"I don't like where this is going," Claire told them as she accepted a cup from her mother, who sat down next to her.

"Neither do we," Bobby replied.

"Claire... we think that the only way to 'make' an angel is to implant the Grace of an already living angel inside of a vessel. Turn an angel human, and then turn a human into an angel with their Grace," Sam explained in what Dean imagined was intended to be a calming tone.

Claire did not react calmly.

"You want to cut me open, put _Grace_ inside of me, and turn me into an angel?" she exclaimed. "I hate those bastards! Why the hell would I want to be one?"

"I know this is the last thing on the planet that you even want to consider-" Sam began, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Sam was always better at handling hysterical folks than he was, so Dean allowed his brother to work his magic.

"Damn straight."

"-but you have to understand that the world is at _war_. Hundreds of angels are dying, and thousands of humans are getting caught in the crossfire. The only way we can stop this is if we perform the trials and put the angels back where they belong. We don't want to force anyone to do anything, and we don't want anyone walking into this who doesn't fully understand what they're signing up for. You know what's out there. You've seen it firsthand. You're the only person we know that can make an informed choice," Sam continued steadily.

"Informed choice, huh?" Claire nodded. She put her hands on the edge of the table and pushed herself up. "Well, you know what my choice is?" She flicked her eyes between the three of them. _"Screw. You."_


	55. Fell on Black Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire must make a choice, and an unlikely pair have a late night conversation.

_"Screw. You."_

Well, this conversation was going swimmingly. Claire Novak was certainly feistier than Sam remembered. There was a world of difference between eleven and eighteen, he supposed. If they couldn't convince her to even consider this, he didn't know what they were going to do... because really, who else was going to sign up for this?

"Claire, please-"

"No," Claire interrupted him. "No, you don't get to ask this of me. You don't get to put this on me, the whole fate of the world - that isn't fair! That's what Castiel did to my father, and look where that got him." She looked to her mother. "Can you believe this?"

Amelia said nothing, her eyes fixed on her coffee mug.

"Mom?" Claire tried again.

"If she became an angel... she would be immortal, wouldn't she? Or very close to it?" Amelia asked quietly.

_"Mom!"_

Claire and her mother were starting to remind him of Ellen and Jo. "The only thing that can kill an angel is an angel blade," Bobby told Amelia. "And even then, they don't go down easy."

"You can't actually think this is a good idea," Claire said. Amelia finally met her daughter's eyes.

"You want to go out and hunt demons, Claire," she said softly. "Given the choice between that, and you becoming an angel, which do you think I'm going to want for you?"

"Whoa, back up," Dean interjected. "Hunting demons? _You_ want to be a hunter?"

"Is that even a question?" Claire, frustrated, brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "How can I know what's out there, know that there are demons and monsters, and just... what? Sit around and do nothing?" She grimaced. "I watched one of those things shoot my dad. They kidnapped me, possessed my mom... go figure, but I have a grudge to settle."

"That ain't a good way to start out hunting. Trust us, we know," Dean said.

"Trust you?" Claire repeated. "And why the hell would I trust you? I trusted you to look out for my father, and now he's dead."

"Look, a lot of stuff's happened in the past few years-"

"I watch the news," Claire said. "I saw Castiel when he murdered all of those people in that campaign office. When he choked out that priest... and then all of those dead motivational speakers. Whatever that 'angel' has been up to, it hasn't been anything good."

"Cas made some mistakes that year. We all did. He's better now - way better off as a human, really," Dean said.

Sam frowned. If the Novaks didn't like Cas before his stint as God, then he didn't even want to imagine how they felt about him now. He was grateful that Amelia seemed on board with the turn-Claire-into-an-angel plan. Now they just needed to get Claire to agree to the idea.

He could only hope that it wouldn't mean her death if she chose to help them.

"And you think I'd be way better off as an angel?" Claire challenged.

"I'm not saying you'll be better off. Hell, it'll probably be terrible. You're getting handed off to the angel garrison once we turn you, if it even works at all - you might actually just die in the process, because we have no idea if this is going to work or not, because the millennium old rock we got the instructions from wasn't all that clear. So, it's probably going to ruin your life and make you miserable. But you know what? We ain't forcing you to do anything. We're laying it out for you, and we're giving you a choice. You can say yes and help us stop the war, or you can tell us to screw off, and we'll go home, and try to figure out something else and hope to hell that the world don't end in the mean time. It's all in your lap. Is it fair? No. Is it right? Fuck no. But it's how things are, and I've been there. I've been right where you are, and it's a shitty position to be in, but it's decisions like this that show you who you are."

Sam was surprised by Dean's sudden outburst, but he could see where his brother was coming from. They'd both been in Claire's position before. Dean's decision to say no to Michael and Sam's decision to say yes to Lucifer had shown who they were... how far they were willing to go to save humanity... how much they were willing to sacrifice. Although it had brought nothing but literal and metaphorical Hell down on the both of them, he didn't regret his decision, and he was pretty sure Dean didn't feel any remorse over his.

After all, one foot out of place, and bam: Armageddon. If they hadn't made the choices they did, Earth would be a burnt out cinder.

Claire was stunned into silence. Bobby and Sam exchanged a glance, unsure of what to say in wake of Dean's speech. "Look... this is a huge decision. Life changing. We need you to make a choice quick, but we don't need you to figure out what you're going to do right this second. We can hang around town for a little bit... why don't you sit on this? We'll come back tomorrow night, and you can tell us what you've decided," Sam suggested.

"One day, huh?" Claire muttered. "That's generous of you."

Crowley would like this girl. "It's the best we can give you."

"Fine. Can you go, now?" Claire looked up at him, looking spent. Her eyes were still watery. "I need time to talk to my mother. Time to think."

"Okay," Sam agreed, rising from his chair. Bobby and Dean stood with him.

"Just giving you a heads up here; you need to tighten up the anti-demon defenses you already got," Bobby advised the two women. "We've had a lot of trouble from the bastards lately, and we don't know if they're onto what we're doing with the second trial or not. They could show up and crash the party."

"If they come, we'll be ready," Amelia said, and Sam felt a strong sense of resignation from Jimmy's wife.

"We're prepared for them," Claire tacked on darkly.

Sam nodded stiffly. "Alright. Thank you for the coffee."

With that, Sam turned and made his way out of the house, with Dean and Bobby at his sides. He closed the door behind him. As soon as it clicked, Dean swore loudly.

"There's no way she's gonna go for this."

"Do you really blame her?" Bobby said. "She ain't got any reason to help the angels, or us."

"Between now and tomorrow night, she could change her mind," Sam told the two of them as they walked to the Impala. "Don't be so quick to write her off."

"Would you do it, if you were in her position?" Bobby asked.

"I was in her position. I was in a worse position," Sam said. "But I also wasn't an eighteen year old girl, so... different situations, I guess."

"Yeah. You were a twenty seven year old girl," Dean commented as he slid into the driver's seat of the Impala. "We really are screwed if she says no, though."

"We'll figure something out. We always do."

* * *

"You've been feeding him scraps, haven't you?"

"No."

"Then _why_ did he get into the pizza? He never had any interest in human food before."

"I think Dean may have sometimes fed him the remnants of some of our meals..."

"Bloody Winchester! I leave my cat with him for two months, and look what he does! I'm surprised Squirrel even bothered to clean his litter box while I was gone."

"Aziraphale tended to urinate on Dean's bed when it was not to his liking, so I believe that motivated him to-" Cas broke off as his phone buzzed in his pocket. "Ah. It's Dean."

"Speak of the imbecile," Crowley groused. He paused _Doctor Who_ and flicked his eyes to Castiel. "Put it on speaker."

The ex-angel obeyed, setting the phone on the coffee table. "Hello, Dean," Cas greeted. "Have you made contact with the Novaks?"

There was a heavy sigh on the other end. "Oh yeah, we made contact with 'em. They weren't too happy to see us."

"Is anyone ever happy when you come knocking on their door?" Crowley asked. "Don't beat around the bush, darling. Give us all the juicy deets."

"We laid it all out for Claire, gave her a day to think about it. We're going back tomorrow night to see what she decided. Right now, it's not looking good. She hates the angels with a passion - especially you, Cas. Doing anything to help you, well, I don't think it's something she's all that interested in."

"She blames me for Jimmy's death," Cas surmised, sorrow evident in his expression.

"...I'm sorry, man."

"It is my fault," Cas said. "It was my own folly that led to his death."

"It's in the past, Kitten. No use getting all dewy eyed over it, yeah?" Crowley bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. "You lot are keeping watch on the house throughout the night, I hope?"

"We weren't planning on it," he heard Sam's muffled voice in the background.

"You think it's a good idea to just give her the opportunity to run away?"

"She won't run," Dean argued. "She won't leave her mom alone."

"Uh-huh." Crowley wasn't convinced. Not in the slightest. "Well. Squirrel knows best, I suppose."

There was a long pause. "Sorry, the phone must be breaking up, 'cause I'm pretty sure I just heard you agree with me."

"Once in a blue moon, as they say. I hear tonight it's due to be a rather lovely aqua," he drawled. "So, is that all? You talked to her, she hates Cas, and now all our hopes and dreams are most likely going to be dashed by this time tomorrow?"

"Pretty much the long and short of it." That was Bobby. "Everything okay there?"

"Oh, yes. Cas and I are best pals again. It's a downright tearful reunion, isn't it, Kitten?" Crowley asked, giving Cas a wolfish grin. The ex-angel eyed him warily.

"Crowley and I are getting along well," Cas affirmed.

"Ain't that the damndest thing," Dean said, sounding genuinely surprised. "If that's all, I'm gonna raid the hotel bar, and then pass out. If there are any complaints, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

He heard Sam snort in the background. "We probably won't be back until Friday," Sam said. "But we'll call you as soon as we know if Claire said yes or not."

"I'll be waiting with bated breath. Kisses." Crowley reached over and hung up Cas's phone. As soon as he did, he stood up. "Although I hate to cut our marathon short, Cas, it appears I have something to do tonight."

"You're going to keep watch over the Novaks, aren't you?" Cas narrowed his eyes at Crowley.

"Obviously."

"Be cautious," Cas warned. "We do not know what forces are aligned against us at the moment."

"Your concern's touching, but I'll be fine. If there's one thing Abaddon and her mooks have proven in the past few months, it's that they can't kill me to save their lives... quite literally." He gave the ex-angel a little finger wave. "See you tomorrow, Kitten."

A moment later, he was gone.

* * *

For hours, Crowley stood in the darkness, letting the shadows wrap around him and hide him from view.

A warm late summer breeze tickled his cheek and ruffled his hair as he watched the suburban two-story white house across the street. There was only one light on. He was fairly sure it was coming from the room that belonged to Claire.

It was almost four o'clock in the morning. Why was the littlest Novak still awake?

He waited. Fifteen minutes later, her light flicked out, and the house went dark. That meant one of two things. Crowley sighed, settling himself against a large maple tree. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be sitting here for very much longer.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, Crowley heard the creak of the Novak's backdoor over the wind. _Now, now, darling,_ Crowley thought, _can't have you running away on us._

Crowley stood, brushing off his suit. He made his way toward the side gate, where he was sure Claire would soon appear at. Sure enough, just as Crowley's shoes soundlessly landed on the sidewalk in front of the Novak's house, the teenager slipped out of the gate, a duffel bag over her narrow shoulder.

She looked around suspiciously; she was a smart girl. She knew that she was most likely being watched. However, Crowley was still invisible, and he planned to stay that way. At least for now. Claire, after satisfying herself with a few paranoid glances, locked the gate and tiptoed across the yard. When she reached the sidewalk, she was standing almost directly next to him.

Claire took one last look back at her home, then turned her back on it, marching determinedly down the sidewalk and away from her house. Claire walked at a brisk pace, and she held her head high. He recognized that look. She was a child trying very hard to be brave when everything inside of her was screaming in terror.

Claire walked for three blocks before she stopped in front of a large brick house. In front of it sat some old muscle car - he was sure that Dean would know the model, make, and year. She checked over her shoulder again, then unzipped her bag, retrieving a bent wire coat hanger from its depths.

Crowley decided it was time to act. He released the shadows cloaking him from their duty, then grabbed the girl's shoulder. She jumped, gasped in surprise, then dropped the coat hanger to the ground with a clatter. Her hand dived for her pocket, but Crowley wrapped his fingers around her wrist, halting her progress. He used his grip on her to jerk her around so she was facing him.

"I wouldn't do that," he told her softly, not wanting to rouse the whole bloody neighborhood. "Whatever you've got in your pocket isn't going to work on me."

He reached his free hand down, slipping it into the pocket of her hoodie. She stared at him, and he blessed his lucky stars that she hadn't started screaming. He pulled out a small silver flask. It had a cross engraved on the surface, which shined in the moonlight.

"I take that back," he said. "This actually _would_ work on me."

Claire tried to struggle her way out of his grip, but it was to no avail. Demonic strength against a teenage girl? She didn't stand a chance. Her lip trembled with fear and her blue eyes were wide. She was shaking. Yet, when she spoke, her voice was steady.

"You're a demon?"

"Mmm. Guilty as charged, I'm afraid," he responded. "I'm friendly though, if you can believe that... name's Crowley."

"A friendly demon?" she repeated, slim upper lip curling. "No, I can't believe that."

He raised his free hand. "Scout's honor," he said with a faint smirk. "I'm a friend of the Winchesters."

"I thought the Winchesters hunted things like you," she said, watching him warily.

"Oh, they do. I just happen to be unique in the fact that I am both delightfully demonic and not on the Winchesters' shit list. At present, anyhow."

"And why's that?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What makes you so special?"

"Depending on how you look at it, I'm either much smarter than the rest of my species, or significantly more stupid. Like I'm sure the Winchesters have told you, Heaven and Hell are going at it, and Earth is getting bloodied up in the process. I've decided to stand in the middle with humanity and try to stop the war before everything goes up in smoke."

"You're telling me that _you're_ trying to save the world?" Claire asked disbelievingly.

"Is that so hard to believe, that I wouldn't want it all to come crashing down?" he inquired.

"You're a demon."

"Stick around long enough, and you'll learn that little things like that don't matter much in the grand scheme of things," he told her. He released her wrist, fairly confident that she wouldn't try to make a break for it. It's not as if she could outrun him, anyway. "But enough about me. Let's talk about you."

"I'm not going with the Winchesters," she said, massaging her wrist, which was now and irritated red color.

"I gathered that much," Crowley said blandly. "I can't let you do that."

"Sam and Dean said that I have a choice," Claire replied. "They said it's up to me whether I do this trial thing or not."

"Yes, but given the fact that you're running away in the middle of the night instead of just telling Sam and Dean 'no' tomorrow, you must know that _no_ isn't really an option."

"I don't want this," Claire whispered, shaking her head. "I'm not like my dad. I'm not a hero. I'm not brave... and if I stay here, my mom's going to be in danger. The Winchesters said there might be demons after me."

"Yes, you're turning tail now because you're worried about your mother's safety. You're taking off into the great unknown in an admirable but misguided attempt to protect her... really, I'd call that brave, wouldn't you?"

Claire ducked her head, but didn't respond. Crowley pursed his lips, contemplating how to go about persuading Claire to consent to the second trial. He didn't want to force her, and neither did Cas, Bobby, and the Winchesters. He was just going to have to sell her.

"I'm not going to play you," he began. "I won't say, 'Do this because it's the right thing' or, 'do this to save your mother', if anything should choose to come after her-"

"Then what are you saying?" she cut across him. Cheeky, this one.

"I'm saying that this is the end of the world, and we need your help. I'm saying that this won't be fun for you - I'm telling you that you might die... but if you choose not to do this, people _will_ die, more people than already have."

"You're trying to guilt trip me into this, just like the Winchesters," she said, her tone brittle. Good. He was getting to her.

"I'm telling you the truth, Claire."

"I can't - I can't be one of those things!" Claire burst out. "I can't volunteer to become one of the things that took my father away, that killed him!"

"Not all angels are evil," Crowley told her. "Not all of anything is evil. If you even believe in that sort of thing."

"You don't believe in evil?"

"I believe in choices," Crowley responded cryptically. "And I believe that some are much harder to make than others."

"Like this one."

Crowley nodded. "Exactly like this one."

Claire leaned against the car she was planning on stealing, eyes fixed on the ground. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" he asked.

"Why did you side with the Winchesters?"

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

"You're asking me to give up my life for _your_ cause," she said sharply. "I think I deserve something in return, don't you?"

"Quid pro quo, eh? Why do you want my life story?"

"I just want an answer. And don't tell me it's because you don't want the world to end, because there's no way it's that simple. Nothing is that simple."

"You're much smarter than you look," he commented. He debated on what to tell her. After a moment, he decided that a bit of truth might buy him some favor with the teen and make her more likely to listen to him. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I may be a bit... uh, head over heels for one of the Winchesters. The tall one." It felt strange to say it, to verbally admit that he was barmy for Moose. Hadn't he just been denying it to Castiel mere hours ago?

"Sam?"

"Yes."

She didn't respond for a few moments. "You're in love with him?"

He cringed, because having that said out loud stirred something inside of him he'd rather not analyze. "I'm not a fan of that word. Suffice it to say, I'm content to follow that idiot to the ends of the Earth." Which was likely to be exactly where Sam would take him.

"Does he know?" she inquired.

"Why do you think I asked you if you could keep a secret?" He arched an eyebrow at the teen. "He doesn't know, and I don't plan on him ever finding out."

Claire was quiet for a time. "I didn't know demons could feel things like that."

"I imagine most can't. I'm in a rather specific set of circumstances... I'm partially human."

"How does that even work?"

"Long story. Too long to tell. Cliff notes... Sam used his blood to turn me human. He had to stop just before he finished the cure. Now, I'm... let's say seventy-thirty. Mostly demon, but with a side helping of humanity." He cleared his throat, not entirely comfortable with the direction that this conversation had taken. "If we can get back to the matter at hand... I think it would be best if you went home, Claire."

"I still don't want to do this," she said quietly, ducking her head slightly. A lock of dirty blonde hair slipped out of her ponytail and fell over her face. Her shoulders trembled. "But I think-" her voice broke. "I think it's what my dad would've done, in my place. I - I want him to be proud of me."

"Look at me," Crowley said, and he put his hand on the side of the girl's cheek, tilting her head up. He brushed her hair behind her ear, and he met her glistening eyes. "I didn't know Jimmy personally, but from what I know of him... well, I think he'd be very proud of you."

He didn't know where the sudden out-of-character instinct to comfort her came from, but then his younger sister's face flashed in his mind, and he knew why. Claire reminded him of Rosie. Another haunting memory of his human life. He dropped his hand, flexing it uncomfortably at his side.

"Let's get you back home," he told her. He put his hand on the teen's shoulder, and a second later, they were back in front of the Novak residence. "I'll be seeing you soon." He turned to leave, but Claire called after him.

"Crowley?"

Crowley glanced back at her. "Yes?"

"I don't know whether I should thank you or not..." She pursed her lips. "But, thanks."

He didn't think she would be so likely to thank him after they'd finished the second trial, but he accepted her gratitude with grace. "Goodnight, Claire."

In a blink of an eye, Crowley returned to the bunker.


	56. Young Volcanoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is still in gay denial, and apologies don't matter.

The next morning, Cas entered the kitchen to find Crowley sitting at the table with his feet up, nursing a glass of Craig. The demon looked up as Castiel made his way to the coffee pot. He poured himself a mug, and then stuck it in the microwave for a minute.

"You look like death warmed over." Cas didn't respond, instead fumbling in the cabinet for where Dean kept the Tylenol. "Are you hung over?"

"Yes," Cas answered tersely. He poured out a few pills into his hand and dry swallowed them. Without Dean next to him, he'd been worried that his nightmares would return. So, in a preemptive strike, he drank enough bourbon to sink a small battleship. He followed up the copious amounts of alcohol by passing out face first on the floor.

Once the microwave beeped and his coffee was done, he downed the entire cup in one gulp. Hopefully it would clear some of the painful haze in his head. As he banged the mug down on the counter, he eyed Crowley.

"You look very satisfied with yourself."

"And that's different from how I usually look, how…?"

"Your stake out went well, then?" Cas asked dully. Crowley took a sip of his Craig. "And don't you think it's a little early to be drinking?"

"It's happy hour somewhere," Crowley replied. "And yes, I'm celebrating – little Red Riding Hood tried to run off last night. Luckily, I was able to stop her. Not to mention, I think I even convinced her to go along with your possibly fatal Grace transplant plan."

"I assume that you are the Big Bad Wolf in this analogy?"

"Always. Good for you, keeping up on your human folk lore."

"It's hardly folk lore, but thank you for the compliment," Cas grumbled. "I certainly hope that you did manage to convince her. I don't know what we'll do, otherwise."

"A bit of daddy issues sprinkled with an innate good nature… it wasn't as tough a sell as I originally thought." Crowley finished his glass, and then snapped it away. "I'm a businessman, Cas, and it felt good to actually do what Hell intended for me to do. It's been far too long."

"Missing your position?" Cas asked, sinking down into the chair across from Crowley.

"I was King. Isn't it a given that I miss it?"

"I was merely thinking of your humanity. Being the King of Hell, you have to be ruthless and cruel."

"And?" Crowley asked in a bored tone. "You just named two of my base personality traits."

"Maybe before Sam attempted to cure you, but now… I'm not sure if you would be as content leading the damned."

"Well, that falls into the category of a 'me' problem and not a 'you' problem," Crowley responded, and Cas could tell that he'd hit a nerve. The demon never seemed very keen to speak of his newfound humanity and the affect it had on him. "Oh, and Cas?"

"Yes?"

The demon snapped his fingers. In a split second, Cas's hangover was gone, and he felt perfectly fine. His shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you, but why didn't you just do that as soon as you saw me?"

"I may have wanted to watch you squirm a bit. Sadism dies hard, darling."

"Damn it, Crowley."

* * *

Just as the sun set on Pontiac, Dean, Sam, and Bobby arrived at the Novak residence. They made their way to the front door, and Bobby knocked. Before Dean could even suggest ringing the bell, the door swung open, revealing Claire and her mother. Claire had a bag over her shoulder, and both she and Amelia's eyes looked scratchy and swollen.

He had to admit, he was shocked to see Claire already ready to go. After the very limited success of their conversation the night before, he thought they were doomed to having to find an alternate way to complete the second trial. He wondered what changed her mind in the past twenty four hours.

"I'll do it," the teen said in a low voice. "I want to get this over with. Can we leave tonight?"

"Whenever you want, kid," Dean told her. "It's up to you."

"Let's just go," she said.

"Are you sure about this, Claire?" Sam asked.

"Don't give me a chance to change my mind," she said sharply. "Because you won't like what I decide."

"Alright. You're the boss," Bobby said, shooting Sam a look that told him very clearly to shut the hell up.

Claire turned to her mother, and Amelia gathered up the teen into her arms, holding onto her for dear life. The woman's lip trembled, and he saw a tear trail down her cheek.

Dean respectfully averted his eyes, instead choosing to gaze at his shoes. He knew what Claire was feeling, to a certain extent. While his memories of his mother were getting to the point that they were distant and fuzzy, he remembered the pain of being without her that lasted for years after her death. He was glad that Sam had been spared from that. He didn't know Mom long enough to miss her.

He couldn't imagine what it was like for Claire. Since Cas took Jimmy away, she'd only had her mother to rely on. And now he was part of the reason they were getting separated. Regardless of the necessity of Claire's sacrifice, it didn't make what she was walking into any less awful. As she clutched her mother, Dean had another one of those moments where he wondered if they were really the good guys, after all.

"Please be safe," Amelia said into her daughter's ear. "Please."

"You too, Mom," she replied. "I love you. I'll come home as soon as I can." _If she can ever actually come back, that is._

Amelia pulled back, and she cupped Claire's cheek. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to her forehead. "I love you, too, Claire-bear."

With that, Amelia allowed Claire to move away. The teenager brushed past the three of them and began heading to the Impala. Apparently she recognized it from the last time she'd ridden in it. Dean met Amelia's gaze, and the woman reached forward and gripped both of his shoulders.

"If something happens to her, I will hunt the three of you down myself. Do you understand me?" she asked severely, and in her eyes, he saw the desperation of a person who had very little left. "Protect her. I've lost enough for one life time."

"We'll watch out for Claire, Mrs. Novak," Sam said. "We promise."

_Don't make promises that we might not be able to keep, Sam,_ Dean thought to himself. "We'll do everything we can."

"Like you did for Jimmy?" she asked, and both he and Sam deflated at the same time.

They'd let Jimmy down, there was no questioning that. In all the chaos that followed after Cas started using him as a vessel again, they'd let him slip through the cracks. They should've figured out a way to free him of Cas's control a long time ago and get Cas some unoccupied body to knock around in.

"We're sorry," Sam said, and he knew that his brother meant it as much as he did.

Amelia closed the door without another word. Bobby sighed. "Something tells me she's not our number one fan."

"You think, Sherlock?" Dean grunted. "Come on. Let's get the kid to the bunker and get this the hell over with."

* * *

It was past four in the morning when Dean, Bobby, and Sam arrived at the bunker. Claire was asleep in the backseat next to Bobby, her head resting against the Impala's window. The ride had been awkward, to say the least. Claire hadn't spoken more than a few stilted sentences when they'd started their drive back to Lebanon. Around midnight, she'd passed out, and it relaxed the atmosphere somewhat.

To be honest, they all knew why things were tense; they all felt guilty as hell. They could be sending Claire to her death. Sam didn't want an eighteen year old girl to die because of their decisions. Not that people hadn't died because of their decisions, before. No, he'd lost count a long time ago of all of the deaths that he and Dean were responsible for.

This didn't feel right. But not many of the things that they did felt right.

Dean pulled into the garage of the bunker. The door closed behind them as the lights flickered on. Dean parked the Impala. Sam turned to look at Claire. He reached around his seat and set his hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly. "Hey, Claire... we're here."

The girl's eyes opened slowly, and she blinked, seeming confused for a few moments. "Where's here?" she asked.

"The Bat Cave," Dean said. "Super secret hunter hideout. Killer water pressure, comfy beds, well-stocked kitchen, and a shooting range. Anything you could ever need, all in one place."

Claire didn't seem impressed. "Uh-huh."

She climbed out of the Impala, and the three of them followed behind her. Side by side, Sam and Dean led the way into the main part of the bunker. They exited out onto the landing in the foyer before heading down the stairs. Sam glanced over his shoulder at Claire, and she did seem somewhat awed now that they were inside the bunker itself.

"This place is enormous," she said.

"It was built for a whole secret organization. Like the Free Masons, only with more monster hunting and less creepy symbols on money," Dean told her. "There's really nothing to do tonight. We all need rest. We'll talk more in the morning." They led her down one of the adjacent hallways, stopping in front of Bobby's door. "Any room past here is open. Pick whichever one you want."

Claire nodded. "Okay."

"Do you want us to wake you up for breakfast tomorrow?" Sam inquired.

She shrugged. "Sure." She paced down the hall, stopping in a room three doors down from the room Cas was supposed to sleep in. "Is here alright?"

"Go for it."

She didn't respond, merely disappeared into her room. When the door closed, Sam let out a heavy sigh. He was already looking forward to collapsing into bed. He was exhausted and anxious, and sleep sounded like a particularly good idea.

"Tomorrow's gonna be a hell of a day," Dean said.

Sam nodded in agreement. "I'm not looking forward to it."

"No use in standin' around and bitchin' about it," Bobby said. "Don't wake me up unless you absolutely have to."

"You sleep a lot more than you used to," Dean commented.

"Yeah, well, I'm still getting used to being not-dead," Bobby responded gruffly. The older hunter went to his room. "See you in the morning," he said just as his door closed.

Sam and Dean were left alone. "Dean..." Sam couldn't hold it back anymore. "What are we going to do if this goes south?"

"How am I supposed to answer that, man? What are we gonna do if we end up killing her?" He met his brother's eyes, his jaw tight. "We add it to the list of things that we fucked up, and then we keep going. With the way things are going now, we can't just sit back and try to play it safe, anymore. There's not enough time. The world's a damn bomb, and there's no telling when it's gonna blow."

Sam pursed his lips and considered his brother, unsure of how to respond, because nothing that Dean said was untrue. "I just don't want to be..." Sam struggled for the right words. "Sometimes, I wonder if we're even the good guys."

"We aren't always the good guys, Sammy," Dean answered, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder. "But the point is... we try. And in the end, that's all we can do."

"I guess." Dean dropped his hand. "Night, Dean."

"Night, Sammy."

With that, the two brothers split up. Dean went into his room, closing the door with a soft click, and Sam slipped into his own. He fumbled on the wall for the light switch. He flicked it on, illuminating his room. He gave a short gasp of surprise when he saw that Crowley was lying on Sam's bed, hands behind his head, wearing Sam's head phones, which were plugged into Sam's CD player. The demon didn't even seem to register his presence.

_"I'm home... asshole,"_ Sam said in the King's head. Crowley's eyes opened slowly. He slid off the head phones.

"Hello, darling," he greeted, meeting Sam's eyes. "Miss me?"

He did, but he decided that Crowley probably already knew that. "Having fun?"

"You've better taste in music than your brother, at least. Never pegged you as a Coldplay fan."

"I'm not huge on classic rock," he said, setting his bag down on his dresser. "I like the softer stuff. It calms me down, helps me think."

"Mmm," was all Crowley said. Sam kicked off his shoes and stripped off his jacket.

"Any particular reason you're in my room?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was waiting up for you?"

"Probably not."

"Fine. I was bored out of my mind once Cas went to bed, so I just violated your privacy and went through all of your worldly possessions to pass the time."

"Crowley!"

"Only kidding, Moose."

Sam rolled his eyes, dropping down onto his bed next to Crowley. It had become so commonplace for the two of them to share a bed during their hunt for Eden that he didn't think anything of doing it now. He flipped over onto his stomach and punched his pillow into a comfortable shape.

"Tired?" Crowley inquired.

_"What was your first clue?"_

The demon laughed softly. Sam closed his eyes, and he heard Crowley snap his fingers. He could tell that he'd turned the lights off. It felt good to be near Crowley. It actually did something to appease his wild thoughts. He actually began to wonder if the demon was purposely trying to soothe him through their link. He decided as he drifted off that he didn't really care. Regardless, we was happy that Crowley was there.

* * *

Cas woke up slowly, but once he'd regained enough of his senses to register details about his surroundings, he realized that he was very warm. He opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he saw was Dean's face, which was remarkably close to his own. Both of them were turned on their sides. Dean's arm was slung over Cas's waist, and the other one was stretched out behind Cas's head and acting as a pillow. Cas's hands were fisted in his shirt.

He had gone to bed alone. He had a feeling Dean would arrive during the night, but he assumed that Dean coming into their bedroom would wake him up. Then again, he was a very heavy sleeper. Cas lifted his head with effort, revealing a red mark from where his cheek had been resting on Dean's forearm. He looked at the clock. It was half past noon already.

"Dean," he shook the hunter gently. "Dean, I believe we should wake up."

Dean grumbled something, obviously not yet fully awake. He drew Cas closer, arms going to wrap around his lower back. Their foreheads met, a soft pressure that he found very comforting.

It was rare that he was able to see Dean like this, as the hunter tended to go to bed after him and wake up before him. The permanent lines of tension on his face disappeared when he slept, softening his features. He looked younger when he slept. It reminded Cas of the Dean he'd rescued from Hell. Even tortured by his memories of Perdition, Dean had been lighter, then. Quicker to smile and quicker to laugh.

The Dean he knew now wasn't quite the same. Almost always a little bit angry, and with permanent concern written in his eyes. These past few months, he'd seemed to become calmer, in spite of the chaotic situation currently plaguing the world, but he was still a man who had been worn down by loss, pain, and tragedy.

What he wouldn't do to relieve him of all of his heartache. He wished he could burn all of the bad memories out of Dean's mind, wish he could take him apart and rebuild him like he had after he'd pulled him out of the Pit, only this time reassemble him without all of the agony he'd gone through over the course of his life. He wished he could make Dean happy, genuinely happy... because he wondered so much what a happy Dean Winchester would be like. In all of the time he'd known Dean, he'd never seen him happy. Temporarily content, yes... but not happy.

"Dean," he said again. He honestly didn't want this moment to end, because he felt warm and safe in the other man's embrace. However, he knew that if Dean was conscious, he would not be comfortable with this. He thumped his forehead against Dean's in an attempt to jar him. "Wake up!"

Dean was finally roused out of his slumber. The hunter's eyes flickered open. He seemed confused. "Cas...?"

He didn't know how to explain their current positions. "I... um..." Words failed him. The two of them watched each other for a few moments, neither of them knowing what to do. Dean's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Eventually, Dean removed his arms, scooting away from him. Cas immediately missed the contact.

"Sorry, man. Guess I got a case of night cuddles or something," Dean said somewhat awkwardly, sitting up. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. Dean tilted his head. "You smell that?"

Cas sniffed the air. "Is that bacon?"

"Sweet. Crowley must've made breakfast. I gotta tell you, sometimes, I just wanna hug that little bastard," Dean said, hopping out of bed. Dean ran a hand through his messy hair. "Come on." He grabbed Cas's hand and hauled him out of bed. As they passed the dresser, Dean tossed him a shirt, and Cas promptly tugged it on. He realized once he was wearing it that it was one of Dean's shirts. He found that he didn't really mind.

The two of them made their way to the kitchen, where they were unsurprised to find Crowley at the stove making breakfast. However, Cas was surprised when he saw Claire at the table. She looked so much different than he remembered. She was a foot taller, with a slim, athletic build. Her hair was dirty blonde and bound back in a ponytail. Her eyes were a mirror, the same bright blue as his own.

It seemed that they had walked in on a conversation between the teen and the demon king.

"But where does food go when you do eat it? Does it just, what, disappear or something?"

"There are some things I try not to question, darling," Crowley responded as he dropped two pieces of toast into the toaster. He glanced over his shoulder at them. "Ah. My favorite power couple. Welcome home, Squirrel. You've been sorely missed."

"Yeah, I bet," Dean said. He didn't seem pleased to see Crowley alone with Claire, and was probably also confused that Claire would choose to put herself in close proximity to a demon. Of course, Dean was most likely unaware of the conversation that Crowley and Claire had two nights ago. "Crowley didn't try to get you to sell him your soul or anything, right?" Dean inquired, seating himself across the table from Claire. Castiel sat down next to Dean.

"No. He's actually kind of cool," she said with a nonplussed shrug of her shoulders. "For a demon." Cas noted that she was keeping her eyes purposely averted, so as not to look at Castiel. He'd been dreading this moment, because he would have to face just how much he had failed Jimmy and his family.

"Why do people always get stuck on that tiny little caveat?" Crowley asked rhetorically. "It doesn't bother Sam."

"It used to," Dean said. "Where is Sam, anyway?"

"Still asleep. I didn't have the heart to wake him."

"And Bobby?"

"Library," he answered. "You may want to get both of them. This is almost ready."

Dean disappeared to go get his brother and Bobby. Silence fell in the kitchen. Cas restlessly bounced his leg, trying to find a way to address the situation. _What do you say to a girl who looks at you and sees her father, but knows that you aren't him and that you are responsible for his death? This is impossible._

"It is... very nice to see you, Claire," he managed, but it sounded like a very weak sentiment, even to him.

Claire's eyes were firmly fixed on her hands. "I wish I could say the same."

Didn't that really sum it all up? "I... I know that it will make little difference to you, but I feel that it needs to be said. I am sorry for what happened to Jimmy. What I did to him... really, it is no one's fault but my own that he's gone. I can't properly express the remorse that I feel. I should've done better by him, and your family. He truly gave everything to me, and I repaid him very poorly."

"You're right. It doesn't really make any difference," she said shortly.

"I will do everything in my power to make sure that you survive this trial," he told her. "It is the least I can do, after everything."

"I don't know how in control you are of that."

"Neither do I, but I will still do everything I can," he replied. "It was very brave for you to choose to help us with this. You are helping save-"

"Thousands of people, the world, yeah, I know, I already got the speech several times over," she cut across him with a grimace.

Castiel looked at her, feeling a great sorrow building in his chest. She was too young for a responsibility such as this, for so much weight to be put on her shoulders. And no one was ever old enough to lose what made them human. A forced-species change... he knew from experience that it could be both terrifying and painful, at times.

"I'm so sorry, Claire." He knew he was repeating himself, but it was the only thing he could say.

"I know, Castiel," she replied, and she sounded tired. "Honestly, I wish I could hate you for it, but..." She lifted her gaze upwards and finally met his eyes. Finally _looked_ at him. It was as though she was hit by lightning. She took a moment to collect herself, then said, "As long as you look like him, I don't think that I can do that."

"I understand," he said, even though he wasn't sure if he did. "Claire... when you were my vessel, for that brief time, I saw your soul. I believe that there is no one better suited for this task than you. You are strong. You will be a great angel."

Claire pursed her lips. "I hope to God that you're right."


	57. Can't Fight This Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas has to let it go, turn his back, and slam the door.

"Alright, Anthriel... come on down. Our end of the bargain's finished. Now it's your turn."

Dean and Sam waited for Anthriel to answer Dean's prayer. Sam had requested that he come along this time to meet with Anthriel in the abandoned barn, as he'd yet to meet the female angel. He said that he at least wanted to know who they were working with, put a face to the name, bla bla bla. Cas had stayed behind at the bunker with the others. The ex-angel hadn't necessarily seemed pleased about it, but he didn't argue.

"Does she usually take this long?" Sam asked after a few minutes passed.

"No. She's usually Johnny on-the-spot. I don't know what's taking so long."

"Anthriel's busy," an unfamiliar voice said from behind them. Sam and Dean jumped up, immediately grabbing their angel blades from their sides as they whirled around. Leaning against the wall was a tall man, almost Sam's height. He had close cut white hair and cold blue eyes, and was dressed in a white button down, black tie, and black slacks. A tooth pick hung out of the corner of his mouth. "I'm covering her appointments for now."

The guy was obviously an angel, but he certainly didn't come across like one. "Yeah? And who the hell are you?"

"Watch your mouth, Winchester," the angel warned. "And to answer your question, I'm Nisroc. I lead the angels with Anthriel."

"Oh yeah, we've heard of you," Dean said. "Word is, you were Naomi's bitch back when Heaven was still open for business."

"Dean," Sam said in a warning tone. "Now is really not the time."

"What happened in Heaven wasn't your concern then, and it isn't your concern now," Nisroc told them. "What's happening on Earth, however, _is_. Did you get the vessel?"

"Her name's Claire, and yes, she agreed to help with the second trial," Sam said. "Now we just need an angel that's willing to offer up their Grace."

"That's been arranged," Nisroc said. "Are you ready to do it now, or do you need time to prepare?"

Dean and Sam looked at each other. No point in waiting around, right? They both seemed to agree on that point. "We're ready when you are," Sam told the angel.

"Fantastic. One moment." He promptly disappeared.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Friggin' angels."

Nisroc was back a moment later, this time accompanied by a young woman. He had his hand on her shoulder, tight like a vice. She looked young, probably around the same age as Claire. She had bleach blonde hair that hovered around her shoulders. Her eyes were a watery green, and they were shielded by a thick pair of glasses that the angel obviously didn't need.

"This is Lailah," Nisroc told them. "She has graciously volunteered for this… _mission_ ," he continued. "Castiel will remove her Grace and implant it in the vessel. Hopefully that will be enough to fulfill the conditions of the trial."

Dean had a hard time believing that Lailah signed up for anything off of her own will. The small angel looked terrified – Dean could tell right off the bat that she had probably been coerced into giving up her Grace, because she seemed like she was anything but happy to be there. Hell, she was shaking like a leaf.

"Volunteered, huh?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes at Nisroc.

"Didn't I just say that?" Nisroc replied. "You wanted our help." He shoved Lailah forward so she was standing between him and the Winchesters. "Here it is." He held up a hand. "Good luck with the trial," he said, not without an ample amount of sarcasm.

A second later, the angel was gone.

"Look, if you don't want to do this, we're not going to make you," Sam said immediately. "It's not right to force you to give up something that makes you who you are."

"N-no," Lailah stammered. "No, I am happy to do this. If it will help us return to Heaven, then… then I must. If not me, then it would just be another angel."

"Damn it," Dean swore, anger rising like a tide in his chest. First Claire's life gets ruined because of his fucking trial, and now this angel, too? What Sam was saying last night suddenly made sense – times like this, it forced him to wonder if they were really on the good side of things or not. "We shouldn't have trusted the angels to handle this."

"What other choice did we have?" Sam asked tiredly. His brother watched Lailah with open compassion. It seemed to make her feel more comfortable, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. "Are you absolutely sure about this?"

"It is the only way. I want my brothers and sisters to be able to go home," she said in a small voice.

Shit. He wasn't one to feel sympathy for angels – Cas had always been the exception – but he had to resist the urge to just reach forward and hug the tiny angel.

"Well, let's get going," Dean said. "We all want this over with." He beckoned Lailah forward. They led her out of the barn and back to the Impala.

"I have never been in a vehicle before," she commented as Sam opened the backseat door for her. She eyed it warily.

"It's safe, honest," Dean said as he climbed into the driver's seat. "If this is your first time in a car, you couldn't have picked a better one. She'll treat you well."

Her brow furrowed. "I was unaware that automobiles had genders."

"They don't," Sam assured her. "Dean just has issues." He guided the angel into the backseat before getting in the passenger seat. Dean began trundling down the dirt path that led to the abandoned barn that they used as a meeting place.

Dean watched Lailah in the rear view mirror when he could, and he was fairly sure that he saw tears in her eyes. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he pressed his foot to the gas pedal. He just wanted to get this trial over with so he could stop feeling like a piece of shit human being.

* * *

"So... do you know what to do here, man? 'Cause I sure as hell don't," Dean said, looking expectantly at Cas. Lailah and Claire were in the library, getting acquainted with one another, while the five of them were in the strategy room discussing how exactly to go about the second trial.

"I..." the ex-angel trailed off, seeming to think. "It is possible to remove Grace from an angel without killing them, as Metatron did it to me. He cut my neck..." Distractedly, Cas slid his finger along the hollow his throat. "And extracted my Grace from the wound."

"That still doesn't explain how we're gonna put it into Claire," Sam pointed out.

"Well, the trial says that I must be the one to 'make' an angel. Logic would dictate that I will have to transfer it from Lailah to Claire using my own body."

"Uh-huh," Dean said, unwilling to admit his own confusion at Cas's statement.

"I think we're going to need you to elaborate on that, Kitten," Crowley said.

"My body is a vessel... I could somehow hold the Grace within me, and then transfer it into a similar wound on Claire's neck," Cas elucidated.

"But won't that just turn you back into an angel?" Bobby asked.

"I believe - this is conjecture, of course - that it would take time for angelic Grace to completely transform a human into a full angel," Cas responded.

"Okay..." Bobby adjusted his hat. "When are we gonna do this, then? Daylight's wasting."

"Hold on," Sam said. "There's one more thing we need to worry about."

"Isn't there always?" Crowley asked tiredly.

"What are we going to do with Lailah when this is all said and done?"

"We give her back to the angels," Dean said with a shrug of one shoulder. "What else are we supposed to do with her?"

"Do you really think the angels are going to take in a Graceless, powerless angel?" Crowley arched an eyebrow at Sam. "The God Squad are hardly what you call bleeding hearts."

"She's one of theirs. They can't just abandon her!" Dean protested.

"They ain't the Marines, Dean. No Semper Fi," Bobby told him gravely. "They're not gonna bother carrying around dead weight."

"A Graceless angel is _not_ dead weight," Cas said harshly.

"He didn't mean it like that, Cas," Dean assured him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "He's just saying that the angels aren't really the 'no man left behind' kind of army."

"If the angels won't take her back, we'll just have to find a place for her," Sam said. "Worse comes to worst, she can stay here. We've got more than enough room in the bunker."

"It's settled, then." Crowley clapped his hands together. "Shall we get on with the possibly lethal science experiment?"

* * *

"Crowley's going to put you to sleep," Sam said in a soothing voice to Lailah and Claire, who were bound to two chairs that were sat next to each other in the dungeon behind Room 7B. They were towards the back of the room, out of range of the devil's trap, which Crowley was making sure to avoid. "Demonic anesthesia, I guess. With luck, it'll keep you from feeling any pain while we do this."

"Why are we in chains?" Claire asked, eyeing all of them suspiciously.

"We are unsure of how your bodies will react to the transplant," Castiel informed them. "The restraints are only for your protection."

"Right." Claire still seemed dubious.

"Are you guys ready?" Dean asked.

Claire turned her head to check on Lailah, who looked as though she was about to cry. "Hey," Claire said softly. Claire extended her hand to the angel. Lailah lifted her eyes to meet Claire's. Hesitantly, she took the teen's offered hand. Claire laced their fingers together. "Be brave."

In that moment, Castiel couldn't help but find Claire Novak amazing. Faced with the possibility of her own death, she was choosing to spend what could be her last moments offering comfort to Lailah - an angel who had lived a thousand life times.

Remarkable.

"We are ready," Lailah said, looking at Crowley. Her voice sounded surprisingly steady.

"God's speed," Crowley said, and Castiel couldn't tell if the demon was being genuine or ironic. He pressed two fingers to Lailah's forehead. The angel sagged forward immediately. Claire still held onto her hand. Crowley moved on to Claire.

"If I die, it is totally your fault," she told him, a slight waver to her words.

"You're not going to die," Crowley responded. "Scout's honor."

Claire snorted. "You keep saying that, but something tells me that you aren't a boy scout."

"Not quite," Crowley said, putting his hand on the side of Claire's face. Cas was surprised by the level of tenderness in the gesture. "But I do keep my promises." A second later, Claire's eyes fell closed, and her limp hand slipped out of Lailah's.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Dean said once both angel and human alike were unconscious.

"I'll keep this one," Crowley replied lowly. His eyes flicked to Cas. "Show time." Crowley drew a short knife out of his pocket and handed it to Cas. He gripped the hilt. It felt cold and small in his hand. He was used to the comfortable weight of either Ruby's knife or his angel blade.

He felt a thrill of both anxiety and anticipation. This would get them one step closer to reopening Heaven and hopefully stopping the war... but it could also end the lives of an innocent angel and human. He lifted the knife. _Everything comes with a price._

He approached Claire. Bobby and Dean stood behind Lailah, and Sam and Crowley stood behind Claire. Cas didn't know what they were expecting to happen; then again, neither did he. Crowley tilted Claire's head backwards, exposing her throat. He took a deep breath, recalling exactly where Metatron had cut him when he'd extracted his Grace. He positioned the blade at her neck. He drew a line there, and blood oozed from it.

Quickly, he moved to Lailah. Dean had already positioned her so he had easy access to her neck. He cut her in the same place. After her skin was rent open, he sliced open his own hand. Wincing in pain, Cas did the only thing he could think to do and placed his palm over the wound, closing his eyes. He tried to focus the foreign energy in his body, the mark of the trials, into a tendril that could reach out and somehow touch Lailah's Grace, bring it into himself-

_Light. Energy. Warmth. Divinity. Power. Singing birds, thunder storms, lightning and rain and wings fluttering in high winds. Everything._

Castiel gasped as he began to absorb Lailah's Grace. His arm felt like it was on fire, but he relished the flames, because within them was the warm touch of angelic Grace. Not his own, no, but close enough. His body practically sang as it slowly worked its way through him, like it was reuniting with a long lost love. His nerves were electrified. He became hyperaware of everything around him, his senses all returning to their once omniscient level. The pores of Lailah's skin under his hand, the fibers of his own clothing, the smell of blood and sweat, the colognes of each man in the room, the papery, clean odor of the Men of Letters bunker.

He opened his eyes as he continued to drain the other angel. Yes, other angel, because he could feel himself becoming an angel again, returning to what he was meant to be, what God Himself _made him to be_. He saw that an eerie blue glow was around him - coming from him. Yes. He was radiant once more. Cas looked up at the others, who were all wearing matching expressions of concern.

For the first time in months, he saw them all for what they truly were.

Bobby was suffused by a faint light, and he recognized it as the influence of the angel trials, which made sense, as his resurrection had been the first trial.

He could see the black aura around Sam, an effect of the demonic blood that pumped through his veins. His tarnished soul shined valiantly within his chest, somehow still mostly whole in spite of Azazel's influence, his stint as Lucifer's vessel, and his time in the Cage. He noticed that a strange force surrounded both Crowley and Sam, a faint orange glow from each of them that seemed to stretch and reach for the other, trying desperately to touch. It was their mental connection, the last reminder of the demon trials.

He could see Crowley's true face again - it had changed since the last time he'd seen it, no longer the red-eyed, horned, horrific visage of terror it had once been. He now looked like all other Crossroads demons did, burnt corpses with gaping mouths and red eyes. However, his was different. Patches of new, clear skin were amidst the broken, cracked, and burnt skin of his true form, pale and nubile, untouched and unharmed. One eye, instead of being red and black as was typical, was instead bright, scared, and perfectly human. It seemed that when they had partially cured the demon, they had altered him down to his very essence... an essence which he could see now held the faint, flickering ember of a soul. It was still wrapped in darkness and bloodlust, but it was alive and there, wavering like a candle in the breeze.

Finally, his eyes went to Dean. Dean. Dean was beautiful. His soul has always been beautiful, brave and strong and brilliant. Years ago, it had been a beacon in the bloody, twisted landscape of Hell, calling him forth and begging to be saved, begging to be returned to Earth and raised from the depths of Perdition. It was tainted, that was true, Hell and Purgatory alike had blemished its once perfect being, but it did not diminish the transcendence of it. He was the Michael Sword. The Righteous Man. _Dean Winchester._ Alongside his soul was the mark of Castiel's Grace, his true Grace, his Grace that had been stolen from him. Glowing and surrounding Dean, protecting him, shielding him like a lover's embrace.

"Cas. Cas!"

Dean had moved. When had he moved? Dean was in front of him, kneeling. Cas realized he was on his knees. When had that happened? The world spun around him. Dean's hands on his face, warm, warmer even than the Grace sinking and spreading, taking and changing within him.

He gripped Dean's wrists with his own hands. He felt the Grace that had once been his pulsing under his fingers, calling to him.

"Dean..."

"Cas, you've got to transfer Lailah's angel mojo to Claire," Dean told him. His voice, deep as gravel, sounded like it was thousands of miles away. The perfect clarity of a few moments ago was replaced by confusion, by a haze of light, his human mind battling with the angelic essence that threatened to overwhelm it. "Come on, man, you gotta do this, or you're gonna turn back into an angel."

Why was Dean saying that like it was a bad thing? It was a great thing. He could be an seraph, again. Could be strong again. Could protect him like he was meant to do.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, I - I can't let it go."

"You have to. I'm sorry, Cas." Dean's thumb brushed across his face. "I'm sorry."

Heat built in his eyes. He couldn't. _No_. He'd felt empty for so long, useless, weak and ephemeral... he wanted to be great again. His previous divinity was in him, now, all he had to do was wait for it to fill up every crack and crevice and swallow him completely. That's all he would have to do. He was so close...

Green eyes. Pleading bright green eyes. Cas's world dissolved down to just that sight. "You're the only one who can do this," Dean told him. "You're the only one who can save the world. You have to give Lailah's Grace to Claire."

Tears traced down Cas's cheeks. He couldn't give this up. "Dean... I feel whole again..."

"You're stronger than this, Cas. You don't need it," Dean told him, and he knew that the hunter believed his own words, could hear it in his voice. "I know you don't want to let it go, but you have to. It's the only way." Warmth. Dean's forehead pressed against his own, like it had been when they'd woken up that morning. "Let it go, Castiel."

He felt like someone had reached inside of his chest and was squeezing his heart.

He broke away from Dean and rose to his feet, as if in a dream. He made his way to Claire. They only had a short window before Lailah's Grace would complete its domination of his body. He had to act quickly. He put his hand on the steadily bleeding wound on Claire's neck.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He didn't want to give it up. Another tear. He didn't want to be broken. Why was he shaking so badly?

A hand on his shoulder. Dean's. "You can do it."

_For you, I will._

He focused the burning, divine energy in his body, channeled it into his palm and then allowed it to flow outward and into Claire Novak's body. The loss shook him to his core as he felt the last dregs of Lailah's Grace drain out of him, his chance at returning to what he was originally intended to be slipping through his fingertips. When it was finally gone, he felt starkly empty. The only thing that kept him from falling to his knees in grief was Dean's hand on his shoulder.

Claire's eyes burst open, but she still didn't seem conscious. Blue-white light glowed from her eyes.

"Shield your eyes!" Crowley called, and Cas ducked his head as white light washed over all of them. It faded after a few moments. When Castiel's eyes returned to Claire, her head was hanging down, her chin touching her chest. He wished he could see what was going on inside of her body, but his sight and senses were weak and limited once again.

"What's happening?" Sam asked, looking at Crowley. "Is she-"

Cas didn't catch the rest of Sam's sentence. He let out a strangled shout of agony as he felt like a thousand volts ripped through him. He went down to the ground on his stomach, face pressed against the cool concrete of the dungeon. He heard the others calling his name, but their yells were lost in the screaming inside of his own head and the electricity ripping through him. It was so much more intense than it had been after the first trial. It was tearing him open, flaying him alive.

As he surrendered himself over to the agony, black crept in on him. The last thing he registered before it swallowed him whole were hands flipping him over onto his back, and a warm touch on his cheek.


	58. Just Like Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas is down for the count, and Crowley and Sam have a better love story than Twilight.

A million things were happening at once all around Dean. Claire still seemed to be unconscious, but her eyes were open and glowing blue-white, her limbs tense and trembling. Crowley and Sam were on either side of her, both looking utterly lost on what to do with the teen. Meanwhile, Bobby was staunching the bleeding wound in Lailah's throat.

And then there was Cas. Cas, who went down, hard. That same electricity that had entered him after the first trial buzzed and crackled around him, and if Cas's screams were any indication, it was inside of him as well. Inside of him and hurting him.

"Cas!" Dean yelled, and he swiftly crouched down next to the ex-angel. Dean reached out to touch him, but then snatched his hand back just in time, recalling what happened the last time he grabbed Cas when he was like this. Cas was a live circuit right now – it wasn't safe to lay hands on him.

When Cas's sounds of distress faded and he sagged, Dean decided that he probably wouldn't get zapped too badly if he attempted to move him. He gently flipped Cas onto his back. His palms tingled unpleasantly, like a static shock was running from Cas to him.

He patted Cas's cheek. The ex-angel's eyes were closed. "Cas?" Dean said his friend's name again, but he showed no reaction. So, Cas was down for the count. Dean could only hope that Cas would continue to be strengthened by the trials rather than weakened by them, now that the second trial was complete.

He would either wake up much better off, wake up worse… _or not wake up at all._

Dean quickly pushed that thought out of his mind; why set up a group of trials that would take you out of the running before you could even reach the last one?

Dean heard a gasp. He looked up, and he saw that Claire appeared to be conscious again. She looked panicked, and her breathing was fast and uneven. Apparently Crowley's sleep spell hadn't held out as long as they'd hoped it would.

"Oh my – oh my God," she stammered out. "I can…" Her wide eyes met Dean's. "I – I think I can see your _soul_."

"How do you feel?" Sam asked tentatively, looking down at Claire with concern.

"I don't feel anything… but, I feel everything…" Well, that was vague and unhelpful. Claire winced. "This is... it's way too much. You all breathe _way_ too loudly. And Crowley, your cologne is really, really strong."

"Better cinnamon than sulfur, I always say," Crowley said. The demon seemed relieved. "She's got a halo," he informed the room at large. "Cas did it. Two trials down, one to go." Crowley leaned down, releasing Claire from her restraints.

Claire turned her head to look at Crowley as he freed her. That was a mistake. She reeled back, nearly falling out of the chair in the process. "Holy – what – Crowley, what the hell is wrong with your face?" She immediately averted her eyes, looking disturbed. Crowley frowned deeply.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"She can see my true face," Crowley told them in a sober tone. "Not as handsome as my meat suit of choice, I must admit."

"So, this is what you really look like underneath your host?" Claire asked shakily.

"Damnation isn't exactly glamorous," Crowley said, and it was both an answer and an evasion. "Until you learn to turn your True Sight off, it's probably best that you don't look directly at me."

"O-Okay," Claire managed. She pursed her lips, keeping her eyes averted. Crowley stepped behind her chair and out of her line of sight, looking resigned. Sam watched the demon with compassion, something that Dean had a feeling that Crowley really wouldn't appreciate.

Claire rose from her seat, turning to Lailah. Bobby had finished bandaging the once-angel's neck. "Is she alright?" Claire asked. "Minus the missing Grace, anyway?"

"She should be fine," Crowley said. "We'll wake her in a few hours, give her body time to adjust to its new species."

"And what happens to her, then?" Claire pressed.

Dean gathered up Cas's limp form and threw him over his shoulder – easier said than done, Cas was just a few pounds lighter than he was – and stood with effort. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If the angels won't take her back, she can stay here at the bunker."

"What about him?" Claire nodded at Cas. "Is that supposed to happen?"

"Yeah, well, I think so, but I don't really know. If you're an angel, that means he pulled off the second trial. The trials just have some funky after-effects. Hopefully he'll come to soon," Dean responded.

"We'll put Lailah in one of the extra rooms," Bobby said, unlocking the chains on Lailah's chair. Sam went to assist Bobby. Satisfied that things were being handled, Dean carried Cas out of the dungeon. He weaved through the shelves of files in Room 7B, coming out into the hallway. Not sure he would be able to make it all the way to Cas's room, he brought him into the lounge.

Gently, he laid the ex-angel down on the couch, slipping the pillow underneath his head. On impulse, Dean smoothed down Cas's hair. "I don't know what's going on with you, man," Dean said quietly. "But if you don't wake up soon, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Unsurprisingly, he received no response from Cas.

Dean sighed, and then he covered Cas with a nearby quilt, tucking the ex-angel in. He hoped he would wake up sooner rather than later so he could be rid of the gnawing pit of worry in his stomach.

Reluctantly, and with one last backwards glance, Dean left Cas and returned to the others, knowing there was nothing that he could do for him, now. Crowley, Bobby, and Sam waited for him outside of Room 7B.

"How is he?" Sam asked.

"Breathing, but he's completely out. I don't know how long it'll be before he wakes up."

"I wouldn't expect it would be too long," Crowley told him. "Heaven restores, Hell destroys, bla bla bla... he'll be up and extra-sparky in no time."

"Let's hope so," Bobby said. "We put Lailah down in the room next to mine. Hopefully she'll be up soon, too."

"Okay, what about Claire?"

"She said she needed some time alone," Sam informed him. "She's in the room she slept in last night, but if she figures out how to teleport, there's no telling how long she'll stay there."

"I'm not particularly worried about her zapping off," Crowley said. "Power wise, you have to look at her as a demon, rather than an angel. Angels were created with innate knowledge of how to flip all of their switches and use all of their powers. Demons, they have to learn. Most don't bother, and those who do have to spend years training themselves. That's essentially the boat the littlest Novak is in right now; the likelihood of her being able to figure out anything on her own is very slim indeed."

"Well, good." Dean let out a sigh. "Last thing we need is her running off. Anthriel would murder us if we lost her new angel."

"I still don't want to hand Claire back over to those bastards," Bobby said.

"We don't really have a choice. We made the deal, and we've got to hold true to it if we want any help from the angels. Chances are, we're going to need them when it comes time to do the third trial, whatever it is," Sam reasoned with a frown.

Dean tongued the inside of his cheek. He was with Bobby, the last thing on the planet he wanted to do was to send Claire off with the angels. They would probably just throw her on the front lines and get her killed in less than a day. But Sam was right, they didn't have much of a choice in the matter. If they cut ties with the angels, they would be more than screwed. It was all out war, and this one was just too big for them to stand in the middle like last time.

"We'll figure it out once everyone's up and Claire's more in the mood to talk," Dean said at length. "Until then..." He let out a heavy exhale. "I need a drink."

* * *

Crowley wandered through the library, a glass of Craig in hand, absent-mindedly running his fingers over the spines of several dusty tomes. It was late in the afternoon, now. The second trial had been completed several hours ago, and they'd all drifted off to different parts of the bunker. Dean was in his room, Sam was taking a shower, and Bobby... he'd actually lost track of where he'd gotten off to.

Cas still wasn't awake. Neither was Lailah. It hadn't been terribly long since they'd both fainted, so he wasn't concerned yet, but if they weren't both up by nightfall, it could be a problem.

Claire was still in her room. He'd thought of going to talk to the newly created angel. After all, he knew a thing or two about having one's species tampered with, though thankfully his hadn't gone the whole nine yards as hers had. He'd decided against it, however. If she wanted to be alone, it was best to leave her alone. Also, there was the minor issue that Claire hadn't yet figured out how to turn off her True Sight, meaning that she would always see his true form when she looked at him.

He'd been spoiled these past few months, being around only humans. It was making him forget what he truly was. Underneath his favored meat suit was the _real_ him - and the inside was not nearly as attractive as the outside, that went without saying.

Crowley took a deep draught of his Craig, almost draining the whole glass, trying to build up enough of an alcohol-induced fog to block out his troubling thoughts.

"It's not even five, and you're already drinking?"

Crowley smirked. So, Claire was awake. He turned to see the teen standing in the threshold of the library. Her eyes were bloodshot and her arms were crossed. She looked shaken, and it seemed like she had been crying. He felt a pang of compassion for the girl; going from human to angel in one day flat would be utterly overwhelming.

It was strange to look at her and see a halo. No shadow of wings, however, as Lailah hadn't had any when her Grace had been removed. Still, the hot white glow of Grace and golden circle over her head screamed what she was loud and clear, no feathers needed.

"Just getting an early start," Crowley replied. "How are you feeling?"

Claire shrugged. "I... it's hard to explain."

"You could try."

"I can see everything," she began slowly. "Like, down to a molecular level, if I look hard enough. I can hear everything that's happening in this bunker, too." She closed her eyes. "Sam's in the shower. He's a horrible singer, by the way. Cas is on the couch in the lounge, I can hear him breathing... Dean's sitting next to him. He's drinking, like you, but he's drinking a lot more, I can _hear him swallow_... he's talking to Cas, too. Even though he knows that he can't hear him. Bobby's in his room, so is Kevin. Kevin's looking through a notebook and Bobby's reading something. Lailah's still out." She opened her eyes again. "You know how hard it is to focus with all of that crap going on? It's complete sensory overload."

Crowley seated himself on the edge of the table. "It'll take some time to get used to, but eventually all of the chatter will die down to a dull murmur. You'll just have to be patient."

"Yeah, well, patience isn't one of my virtues."

"Nor mine. Not that I have any virtues," he responded, draining the last of his Craig.

"You know what the worst part is?"

"Enlighten me."

"I can hear the other angels," she said quietly. "They're dying. Dozens of them, every minute. I didn't realize the war was this bad... they're in Paris, I guess, fighting demons."

Crowley nodded, not surprised. Laharl had informed him that the angels and demons alike were moving in on France. "Chances are the angels are winning, but the demons have the added advantage of numbers. The angels are struggling to keep up with the amount of soldiers Abaddon is churning out of the Pit."

"And I have to go jump straight into that, don't I?" she asked, biting the inside of her lip.

"Perhaps not straight into." Crowley set his glass down on the table. "We could buy you a few weeks, maybe. Say that you need time to adjust."

"I _do_ need time to adjust," she said emphatically. "I keep feeling like I should use the bathroom, or eat, or sleep, or something... but I don't _need_ to do any of that anymore."

"Humans are messy, stinking, weepy, needy bags of feelings," Crowley said. "Being turned into an angel, well, you don't have to deal with any of that. Pros and cons, but I've always been a glass half full kind of demon."

"What, angels don't have feelings?"

"Other than their base setting of righteous wrath? For the most part, not really. Castiel was always the glaring exception."

Claire pursed her lips. "Yeah, Cas definitely had feelings. When he possessed me when I was eleven, it... I wasn't really aware, or anything, but I could feel... he was so guilty. He really felt torn up inside, and I remember being surprised at first, because why should an angel ever feel guilty about _anything_? They did God's work. How could something that did only what God wanted them to ever feel bad?" She paused for a moment. "Then I realized why, and I didn't even have to look that far in Cas's mind: God left the building a long time ago. The angels are all on their own."

"Sad, isn't it?" Crowley asked. "A flock of sheep without their shepherd, wandering around and then getting themselves stuck in a den of wolves. Daddy Dearest definitely didn't do the angels or humanity any favors when He took his permanent vacation."

Claire walked over to the table, seating herself next to him. The two of them sat in silence for several minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. He would venture even to call it companionable.

"God's never coming back, is He?" she asked, staring down at her feet.

"I very much doubt it," Crowley told her honestly, not about to sugarcoat the truth. If the Almighty had any interest in the affairs on Earth, He would've stepped in before a world war was started and thousands of His precious angels and arguably even more precious humans were slaughtered. "But honestly? We're probably better off without Him."

"How can we be better off without _God_?"

"Because God doesn't care," he said simply. "And we do. So why not leave the world to the people who give a damn? We'll save the world without His help."

"So, you're saying that the Earth is in better hands, now. Said hands being the demon King of Hell, two guys that look like Calvin Klein models turned into lumberjacks, a powerless ex-angel who's walking around in my dad's body, an old drunk, and an AP student who's also a prophet," Claire said slowly. Ah, yes, she had met Kevin earlier, hadn't she?

"That's about the size of it, yes."

After a moment, Claire just laughed. "I don't know whether we're all doomed, or if you guys actually _will_ save the world, just because you're so hell bent on doing it."

"We'll either save the world or die trying," Crowley said. "We've been here before, this isn't anything new. Same song, different verse."

"I guess so." Claire swung her feet, seeming lost in thought. Crowley watched her for a few moments.

"I have to ask... why are you here?"

Claire looked up, looked directly at him, which was what he was perplexed by. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"In here. With me. Surely you could've poured your sorrows out to one of the others. Why me?"

"Why, do you want me to leave?"

"So quick to assume. I'm merely curious as to why you seem to like to me so much, when I'm not only a demon - the literal embodiment of evil - but you can also see my true form."

"It's not that bad," Claire said. "I mean, it's not pretty, no offense, but it could be a lot worse. When Cas was in me, I uh, I could see the demons that captured my mom and I through his eyes. They looked different than you do. Like... I think whatever Sam did to you, the thing that made you partially human, it changed how your true form looks, too."

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the new angel. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It's hard to explain, but... I can see like, patches of human in it. And you've got - I think you've got a soul. It's really tiny, and it doesn't look like Sam, Dean, and Bobby's, but... it's there. It's all wrapped up in this black and red cloud, and it's kind of flickering, but it's there."

That wasn't really news to him. He'd been able to feel the fledgling soul waging war with his demonic nature for months inside of him. The fact that his true form was altered to appear more human, however, was something he wasn't aware of.

"Wonders never cease," was all he could think to say.

"No," Claire agreed. "No, they don't."

"You still didn't answer my question."

"I didn't?"

"Why me?"

"Oh, right. I don't really know. I mean, it's kind of a given that no matter how sorry Cas is about what happened to my dad, I don't really want to be around him if I don't have to be," she said in a solemn tone. "And then with Sam, Dean, and Bobby, I just don't like the way they look at me. Like they pity me." She grimaced. "I hate being pitied."

"So, that leaves me," Crowley surmised.

"Yeah. And plus, you kept your promise. I made it through the trial. I like people who keep their word."

He could hear the silent accusation towards Cas in her words; he had promised to keep her family safe, and had hardly done so.

"And on top of all of that... I'm a sucker for a good love story," she added with a hint of a smile. Crowley shot her a warning look. "Oh, don't be such a girl. No one's within hearing distance of us."

"I'm not going to gossip with you about boys," Crowley said adamantly. "Or paint your toenails, for that matter."

"Shut up," Claire told him with a roll of her eyes. "You should tell him, you know."

"No, I don't know."

"What have you got to lose?" she asked.

"What've I got to lose? Hmm, let me think... um, Sam, perhaps?" he said tightly, throwing up walls around his thoughts just in case Moose decided to check in on him.

"You won't lose him," she said. "I don't what's up with you guys, but when I looked at the two of you after Cas turned me, I saw... there's like this force pulling the two of you together. Like your souls are reaching for each other." She frowned. "Okay, that sounded really cheesy, but the point still stands."

Souls reaching for each other, eh? He had a feeling that Claire was seeing the tangible representation of he and Sam's connection. He would've explained it to her, but he really didn't feel like going into depth about that at the moment. Actually, he wanted very much to change the subject.

"Look, darling, the moose and I-"

Claire held up a hand, forcing him to break off. She was quiet for a moment before jumping off of the table and heading for the door.

"What is it?" Crowley asked, tailing after her.

"Cas is awake."


	59. The Ice is Getting Thinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas is Cole McGrath, and the authoress hopes that someone will get that reference.

Dean's ass was beginning to form permanently to the edge of the coffee table. He'd been sitting there for hours, slowly working his way through a bottle of bourbon, waiting for Cas to wake the hell up so he could stop sitting here, staring hopelessly at the ex-angel's face.

He took another sip of the bottle of bourbon. If he drained the whole thing, he was going to have to start drinking Crowley's stuff. Hopefully Cas would wake up before that.

_Cas is gonna wake up,_ he told himself. _He has to._

"Come on, man," he muttered, setting the bottle down. "Just get up, already. I hate this… not knowing what's going on with you. We're kind of flying blind here, you know? So… just…" He shook his head, running his tongue along the inside of his lip. "Just wake up and give me some peace of mind, alright?"

It was stupid talking to someone who couldn't hear you, but his definition of 'stupid' tended to change after so many drinks.

"Why did you even have to take on these friggin' trials, Cas?" he wondered aloud. "You didn't have to martyr yourself for this. The whole thing with Heaven… that's on Metatron, Cas. That ain't on you. You shouldn't blame yourself." He sighed. "I wish you would've just let me do the angel trials. Cas, I-"

Dean broke off when he saw Cas's eyelids flutter. They quickly fell shut again, so quickly that Dean thought that he might've imagined the movement, but he still leaned forward, full attention on the ex-angel's face.

"Cas?" Dean said his name, putting a hand on his shoulder. He still felt that electric current under his palm, the current that ran through Cas's whole body. Cas's breathing seemed louder, now. Stronger.

Slowly, Cas's eyes opened, revealing the brilliant blue that lie underneath. He sucked in a harsh breath, and just as Dean's lips quirked into a relieved smile, an electric shock so powerful it temporarily blinded him sent him flying away from Cas and into the wall, colliding roughly with it and jarring his back. He slid to the floor with a groan, stars dancing in his view.

"Dean!" Cas called his name roughly. The ex-angel pushed himself up from the couch, standing on trembling legs. Dean held up a hand, stopping his progress.

"I'm... _fuck_ ," he swore, his entire body feeling either numb or tingling with pins and needles. His heart beat erratically in his chest, and his limbs didn't seem to want to respond to his commands. "Relax, I'm fine," he managed, forcing himself to his feet. He braced himself against the wall in order to keep himself upright. "You're still feeling sparky, then?" he asked breathlessly.

Cas swallowed, seeming as though he was just now getting ahold of his bearings. He flexed his hands, looking down at them with a mixture of awe and trepidation. "It's... it's so much stronger, now."

Yeah, funnily enough, he'd been able to figure that out for himself. Cas almost seemed to be suffused in a faint glow, like the trials were surrounding him, protecting him. It was the complete reverse of how Sam had been post second demon trial. Instead of appearing as though something had forcibly drained the life out of him, it was as though he was radiating life and power.

"So... you feel okay?"

Cas nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe so. I think I may have fallen unconscious as a result of my body trying to better handle the influx of energy from the second trial." His eyes grew more alert. "Claire and Lailah, are they alright?"

"Claire's good as she can be, considering. Lailah's still out," Dean explained as he hobbled over to Cas. He heard footsteps, and a moment later, Crowley and Claire appeared in the threshold of the lounge.

"Kitten," Crowley greeted. "Up and about, I see. How's the second trial treating you?"

Claire narrowed her eyes at Cas. Dean guessed that with her new angelic sight, Cas was all kinds of interesting to look at. Even as a human, he could detect the change in Cas's body. Angels could probably see exactly how the trials were molding and shaping him.

"It appears my... I'm not sure if 'powers' is the proper term here, but whatever they are, they have gained strength." Cas clenched his fists. "I'm going to need to reign them in," he said. "I hurt Dean," he added on, words almost too quiet to hear.

"I'm good, Cas. Trust me, it's definitely not the worst shock I've ever gotten," Dean said emphatically, though he had a feeling he would still be feeling Cas's little love zap tomorrow. "Just, uh… watch what you're touching for now." He found himself backing somewhat protectively towards the television.

"Yes, I will be careful," Cas agreed, before turning his attention to Claire. "How are you adjusting, Claire?"

Claire shrugged, averting her eyes. She never seemed to want to look directly at Cas – didn't want the reminder of her late father, Dean guessed. "I'm dealing," she said. "There's not much else I can do."

"Claire's doing a truly admirable job of not having a mental breakdown," Crowley said. "Hopefully we'll be able to say the same for Lailah, though I've less faith in her constitution. Angels are cloud-hopping cry babies, really."

"Becoming human isn't going to necessarily be a pleasant experience for her, but after time, hopefully she will learn to accept her humanity. Perhaps even treasure it," Cas said. "With luck, she will wake up tonight, or sometime tomorrow."

Dean snorted. "Luck… yeah, that's something we always have a lot of."

* * *

Kevin had never really been able to break his habit of waking up at five in the morning. After so many months living in Garth's house boat and holding himself to such a strict and arduous routine, it was nearly impossible to change his ways. Even though this generally meant that he only managed to grab two or three hours of sleep a night, he continued to wake up at the same time every day.

He was an AP student, or at least he had been; he was used to having to function on very few hours of sleep. Then again, in his old life, his worries had been about SAT scores and cello recitals, not the fate of the entire universe – though back then, his world had seemingly revolved around the little things, the things that were completely inconsequential now.

Princeton just didn't matter as much when any second, an evil fallen angel and a Knight of Hell could level the entirety of Earth.

The bunker was almost eerily quiet, early in the morning. He didn't know what Crowley got up to while everyone else was asleep, but he rarely ran into the demon during his early morning routine. His best guess what that he probably watched over Sam while he slept, or something, doing the creepy guardian demon routine.

Kevin walked through the foyer, the ground ice cold on his bare feet. He was clad in sweat pants and a purple hoodie that hung on him now, after all of the weight loss of the past year. He made his way into the kitchen, intent on starting a pot of coffee and making himself a few hot dogs – another habit from his time decoding the demon tablet that he hadn't been able to abandon.

Just as he was starting his daily pot, he heard voices echoing from further into the bunker. Female voices, as in plural. He assumed that it had to be Claire and Lailah. He was relieved that the former angel was awake – they had all been worried that she wouldn't recover from the second trial.

Kevin considered leaving them be, but after a moment, he decided to investigate. It sounded like Claire and Lailah were in the lounge, so he made his way there. He halted in the threshold once he saw the two women. Lailah was seated on the couch, a curtain of bleach blonde hair hiding her features, as her head was bent, and Claire was perched on the edge of the coffee table, watching Lailah with pursed lips and a look of concern. Crowley's cat was weaving around Claire's legs, mewing at the girl-turned-angel.

"Would music help?" Claire asked softly. "I'm sure that the Winchesters have music you could listen to."

"I – I have never listened to human music before," Lailah said shakily.

"Never?"

"N-no. I was never in the garrison, I… I only left Heaven a few times before the Fall."

"It'll help you fill the silence. Distract you, maybe," Claire said gently.

"If she needs music, I've got my iPod and some head phones," Kevin spoke up, causing Lailah, but not Claire, to jump in surprise. Both women's eyes turned to him. He'd talked to both of them for a bit the day before, but neither of them were particularly chatty pre-second trial, for obvious reasons.

"What is an iPod?" Lailah asked, seeming perplexed and tilting her head in a manner that reminded him strongly of Cas.

"It's this little box thing that plays music," Claire explained. "Want to give it a shot?"

"I…" Lailah nodded slowly. "I would like that, I think. Thank you."

Claire looked beseechingly at Kevin. "Could you…?"

"I'll go grab it." He quickly made his way back to his room, rooting through the refuse on his desk to pull out his iPod and his head phones. He promptly brought them back to Claire and Lailah in the lounge. He hoped that the new human would like alternative rock and classical music, because that was the lion's share of what he had in his library.

"Here," Kevin said, carefully fitting the head phones over Lailah's ears. He unlocked his iPod and handed it to her. "Um, there's a list there of bands… just poke the one you want, and then when the song list comes up, you can pick what you want to listen to. Just brush your finger on it to scroll," he explained.

The ex-angel looked through the different band names available to her. Kevin didn't know whether to be sad or amused when she selected Angels and Airwaves, and the song she picked was "Heaven".

Lailah jolted in an innocent kind of shock when the music started playing, but after a minute passed, she seemed to relax somewhat. "Thank you!" she shouted over the music, which earned a small smile from both Kevin and Claire. "I enjoy this!"

"No problem," Claire responded, loudly enough for her to hear. "I'll be back in a little while – just hang tight." Claire rose from the coffee table and brushed past Kevin, heading out of the room. After a moment, he followed behind her.

"When did she wake up?" he asked her.

"About an hour ago."

"Why was she freaking out – what did you mean, the silence?"

"Angels are hooked up to a radio," Claire told him. "They can hear each other all the time, I guess. For the first time in forever, she's not hearing anything, and it's sketching her out."

"Makes sense," Kevin conceded. He realized Claire was heading to the kitchen. "Are you going to make her something to eat?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want some help?"

She looked over her shoulder at him as they walked into the Men of Letters' large kitchen. "Depends. Can you cook?"

"Uh, I took Cooking my sophomore year."

"Good enough," Claire said with a flicker of a smile. "You make pancakes, I'll make sausage."

"Okay. You might want to make a lot – Dean will probably bitch if we don't cook some up for him, too."

"We'll just have to make enough for everyone. Well, everyone except for me and Crowley."

The two teenagers set about making breakfast, weaving around each other as they made batter and greased pans. That was one nice feature of the bunker's kitchen. There was ample room to maneuver, and a seemingly endless amount of pans and supplies. The only issue was whether the kitchen was stocked with food and ingredients or not, but Kevin suspected that Crowley had been shopping for them of late, if the quality of ingredients and the frequency with which they were stocked was any indication.

He hated the bastard, but there were a few benefits to having him around. If it was just Dean and Sam doing the grocery shopping, they'd be living strictly off of burgers, burritos, pie, and beer.

"So…" Kevin asked as he flipped a pancake, enjoying the smell filling the kitchen. "How's being an angel?"

There were probably better ways he could have broached the subject, but he had to admit that some of his social tact had degenerated over the past year. With his only social interaction being with overcompensatingly masculine dudes, a possibly autistic ex-angel, and the demon King of Hell, his people skills had ended up taking a hit. Hell, the only girl he'd talked to in months was Charlie, and she barely counted, because talking to Charlie felt exactly like talking to a guy.

He hadn't talked to a girl his own age since the night Crowley killed Channing.

"Honestly?" Claire asked, salting the sausage. "It totally sucks."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. Perfect example right here; I'm smelling the food, right, and I should be hungry… but I'm not. And if I try to eat it, all I'm gonna taste is molecules."

"And what exactly do molecules taste like?"

"Like ass," she answered bluntly.

"Hey, if it counts for anything… I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Claire said with a shrug. "This is how it's got to be, I guess. I wanted to go into hunting, here I am… it's just not really the way I planned."

"You wanted to be a hunter?" Kevin asked.

"Yeah. I had a run in with demons when I was a kid, and then I knew about the angels 'cause of Castiel, hunters 'cause of Dean and Sam… I wanted to kill every last son of a bitch that was responsible for my family getting torn apart."

"You kind of sound like Dean."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult," she admitted.

"Take it as a compliment," Kevin suggested. "Dean's kind of a douche sometimes, but he's got a really good heart."

"Alright… what about you? You're a prophet of the Lord – didn't ever see it coming, I guess?"

"Up until my senior year, I was living a perfectly normal, non-supernatural life. I had perfect grades, friends, a girlfriend." He laughed mirthlessly. "I was going to be the first Asian American president of the United States."

"And then?"

"Then I got hit by lightning, stole my mom's car, and ended up driving to a mental asylum to steal the Word of God from the Winchesters."

"Did you actually manage to steal it?"

"Yeah, but Sam chased me around the grounds for an hour and eventually managed to stop me."

"What happened after that?"

"I ended up living with the Winchesters in some smelly cabin in Montana, trying to decode the Leviathan tablet, then a bunch of angels tried to take me, but they were all killed by Leviathan, and I got kidnapped by Dick Roman – Big Boss Leviathan – and then Crowley kidnapped me after that and tried to get me to decode the demon tablet, but I managed to escape. I lived on the run for a year because Dean was in Purgatory and Sam hit a dog and got a girlfriend, or something, and then Dean got out of Purgatory and the Winchesters came for me."

"Crowley killed my girlfriend, then he possessed my mom and managed to steal the demon tablet, then my mom and I ran, but Crowley ended up kidnapping me again. He cut my pinkie off and forced me to translate part of the demon tablet… got rescued again… lived on a houseboat for the better part of the year while I translated the demon tablet… I had a mental breakdown, Crowley killed my mom and kidnapped me _again.._. then he tried to kill me when I wouldn't cooperate, but the Scribe of God who later turned out to be a total asshole saved me, and then the Winchesters moved me here, to the bunker, and I've been working on the angel tablet ever since."

Claire stared at him for a long moment, so long that he had to reach over and stir the sausage links to prevent them from burning. Finally, her eyes tracked down to his hand, and she said, "You still have your pinkie."

"Seriously? I tell you that story, and that's what you take away from it? The fact that I still have my pinkie attached?"

"Well if I asked all of the questions I wanted to ask, we would be here until next week."

"Point," Kevin conceded. "Cas reattached it, back when he was still an angel."

"Ah. Okay." Claire sighed.

"Aren't you surprised about Crowley? You seem to like him, for whatever reason."

"I know that Crowley hasn't always been as – I'm not sure that nice is the word, but you get what I'm saying – as he is now. Demons are evil. I'm not surprised that he killed your mom and your girlfriend. He's probably done a hell of a lot worse than that."

"Yeah… a lot worse," Kevin muttered darkly.

"You know, if I was sticking around for awhile, I would want to hear all the details. It sounds like we've got a lot in common," Claire said mildly.

"Getting thrown into complete Hell almost entirely against our wills, and having to do the 'right thing' and 'be heroes' whether we like it or not?" Kevin asked with a slightly embittered smile.

"Pretty much."

"Welcome to the life," he told her. "According to the Winchesters, it's a one way street."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that." She shook her head, serving up the sausage links onto a large platter. "Guess if I'm doomed to get shipped off to the angels, though, I might as well make the best of it."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"I'm gonna tell the angels that if they want me, they're going to have to take Lailah back, too," Claire said resolutely as Kevin added another pancake to the growing stack beside him. "She's a wreck, right now. She needs to be with her family, or the closest thing she's got to one. So, if the angels want me to join the garrison, then they're taking her back, too. We're a package deal."

"I don't know how well trying to bargain with angels is going to go," Kevin admitted. "But still, that's brave. And it's the right thing, too. The angels just leaving Lailah behind, that's crap."

"No kidding."

Kevin watched Claire for a few moments. "You know," he eventually said. "I think you're gonna make a pretty good angel, Claire."

Claire gave him a weak smile. "I really, really hope you're right."

* * *

"So… you want to try to strong-arm the angels?" Dean asked dubiously.

The eight current occupants of the bunker were all seated at one of the long tables in the library, as the one in the kitchen was not large enough for all of them. There had never been this many people in the bunker at once, before – at least not since the days of the Men of Letters. They'd finished the breakfast that Claire and Kevin had made a few minutes ago, and Dean was now sleepy and pleasantly full.

Naps were gonna have to wait, though; they had a few issues to discuss, first.

Claire sighed. "Yeah, I do. Either Lailah comes with me, or I don't go with them, period. If they have a problem with that, they can bite me."

"Not that I don't love your feistiness, darling, but the angels very well may bite you, and they've got teeth like ferrets," Crowley pointed out.

"I don't care," Claire said. "I'm not going to let them control me, I want them to know that from the start."

"Claire," Cas sighed out the former human's name. "The angels are all about control. They always have been. If you align yourself with them, then you truly have no choice but to fall in line and obey. Anthriel and the rest of the garrison will not suffer a disobedient angel."

"Good. Maybe they'll let me go, then, because being with them is the last place on Earth I want to be."

"I don't think Cas meant that they would let you go," Sam said. "If you cause them trouble, they might not hesitate to kill you."

"They won't," Claire said with an air of utter certainty. "They're losing too many angels. Every minute, more of them are dying. They need every soldier they've got."

"So you're tuned into the angel radio? You can hear everything that's going on?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah… it's nothing good. The angels are holding some places, yeah, but they're all losing hope fast. They can't handle the amount of demons that are coming out of Hell. It's complete chaos, everywhere… I'm starting to see why all the people on the news are convinced it's the end of the world."

"It's not the first apocalypse, and it's not likely to be the last," Crowley said dismissively. "Judgment Day stopped being something special ages ago."

"Claire, you do not have to risk yourself like this for me," Lailah piped up. The ex-angel had eaten a surprising amount of food, packing down as much as Dean had. She must've been making up for all of those millions of years of not eating anything.

"I'm not going to just let them leave you behind, and really, I don't want to go into this alone… I'd like to have you with me."

Lailah seemed touched, almost. "I… you are very kind, Claire. Truly."

"Okay, okay, hold the Hallmark moment." Dean frowned, leaning back in his chair. "Cas and I will head out tonight and call up Anthriel. We'll try to haggle, but no guarantees."

"Something you should add to the pot," Crowley interjected. "See if you can buy our two darlings a few weeks to adjust to their new species."

"She's not gonna want to hand that much over," Sam said.

"She's not gonna want to hand _anything_ over," Bobby corrected. "You know how angels are."

"We will try to persuade Anthriel into accepting the new deal," Cas said, though he still seemed unsure. "I don't know how successful we will be… but we will try."

* * *

That night, Dean and Cas went to the shabby barn.

"Anthriel, Nisroc… one of you needs to come down. It's done," Dean called out.

A split second later, Anthriel appeared in front of them, blonde hair a wild tempest and a deep gash across her cheek. "The second trial is complete?" she asked immediately.

Dean nodded. "Yep, Cas pulled it off. He turned Claire Novak into an angel, wings and all."

"What of Lailah?" Anthriel asked, and for the first time, Dean thought that he saw actual concern in the angel's eyes. "Did she survive the removal of her Grace?"

"Lailah is alive and well," Cas answered. Dean thought 'well' was a bit of an exaggeration, but he wasn't going to argue the point.

"No thanks to you," Dean said, glaring at Anthriel. The angel's brow furrowed in both irritation and confusion.

"What are you trying to imply, Winchester?"

"Me? I'm not implying anything, I'm coming right out and saying it: you dicks forced Lailah to sign up for getting her Grace cut out."

"What are you talking about?" Anthriel snapped. "Lailah volunteered for the second trial-"

"Yeah, that's the same bit that Nisroc tried to feed us," Dean interrupted her. "Lailah sure as hell wasn't acting like she was doing it because she wanted to."

"Did Lailah tell you that we forced her into this?" Anthriel asked, and she seemed genuinely frustrated and perplexed, which didn't make any sense to Dean. There was no point in trying to keep up a lie that they'd already seen straight through.

"Not in so many words," Castiel ventured, seeming equally caught off-guard by Anthriel's reaction. "But her demeanor spoke volumes."

"We didn't coerce Lailah into anything," Anthriel stated. "She was the first and only angel to volunteer, and she did so with determination and no remorse. Why she would act contrary to that, I do not know."

Dean and Cas looked at each other, matching expressions of confusion on their faces. Dean wasn't inclined to believe anything that came out of Anthriel's mouth, given her past deceptions, but if he was good at one thing, it was reading people… and it appeared that the female angel was being sincere.

If that was the case… then why had Lailah behave the way she had? To get sympathy? But what purpose would that serve?

"I suppose it is not of importance any longer," Anthriel said when neither Dean nor Cas responded. "Where is Claire Novak? The agreement was that she would come with us upon becoming an angel."

"Right. About that… Claire needs a little time to adjust… and she's got a condition for coming along with you."

"She has no right to alter the terms of our deal-"

"Considering she just gave up everything to get this trial done, I'd say that she damn well does," Dean cut across her. "Two for one deal. You want Claire, you take Lailah back, too."

"We have no place for a Graceless angel among our ranks," Anthriel said firmly.

"Make one," Cas ordered. "If you want Claire, then you will take Lailah back and make accommodations for her… condition. Otherwise, Claire will remain with us."

"This was not part of our deal."

"And now it is. Take it or leave it," Dean told her, finality in his tone.

Anthriel looked furious, but Dean knew that she wouldn't let a game piece like Claire slip away. "So be it," she growled. "How long will Claire require to… _adjust_?" the angel inquired sourly.

"However long she needs," Cas answered. "We will contact you when both Lailah and Claire are ready."

"That is not acceptable," Anthriel responded adamantly. "I am already agreeing to far more than I would like. You must bend as well. Two weeks, and you bring Lailah and Claire to the garrison."

"Three weeks," Dean bargained.

"In three weeks, there may be no garrison for them to return to!" Anthriel exclaimed, raising her voice. "We are barely holding onto North America, all of Western Europe has become a warzone, and we've already been forced to surrender London and Glasgow to the demons. We are losing ground by the day, and our stance in the rest of the world is far less favorable. No matter how powerful the Heavenly Host is, we simply do not have the numbers to hold a planet this size. Angels die every day, and unlike the demons, we cannot simply make new soldiers. Every single angel is crucial right now." She huffed out a sharp breath. "Two weeks, and that is my final offer."

Dean and Cas stared at the female angel in wake of her outburst, then exchanged an unhappy glance with one another. Neither of them wanted to let Claire go any sooner than they had to, but Anthriel, unfortunately, did have a point. Time was of the essence as the war began to reach even more dire circumstances.

"Two weeks," Cas agreed, albeit reluctantly.

"If that is all, I must return to Paris. We are on the verge of losing the city," Anthriel informed them tersely. "Call me if you have need of me."

The angel disappeared. Cas sighed when she departed.

"I can only hope that Kevin decodes the third trial as soon as possible. We have to reopen Heaven and put Xaphan back in chains, or the angels may very well go extinct."

"This sucks," Dean grumbled. "I wish there was something more that we could do. Waiting for Kevin to finish with the angel tablet…" Dean shook his head. "If we don't speed things up, opening the Pearly Gates might not make a damn bit of difference."

"Kevin is working as fast as he can. If we force him to do more than he is capable of, we may push him to a breaking point that he can't return from," Cas reminded him.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a tension headache building in his temples. "Whatever. We'll deal with this tomorrow. We all need rest." He patted Cas on the back, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that ripped up his arm due to the contact. "Come on. Let's go home."

Cas nodded, and the two of them made their way out of the abandoned barn and back to the Impala. The sun had sank below the horizon, and only a faint strip of light remained, coloring the world in shades of blue and gray. They only had a few minutes left before full dark.

As they drove back to the bunker, Dean was distracted by thoughts of Lailah, and he could tell from Cas's expression that he was, too.

"So, who's lying to us?" Dean asked, breaking the quiet. "Anthriel or Lailah?"

"Anthriel has lied to us before," Cas reasoned.

"Yeah, so we know what she looks like when she's bullshitting us," Dean replied. "I don't know about you, man, but she looked like she was telling us the truth."

"But what reason does Lailah have to lie to us?"

"Well, that's the million dollar question, ain't it?" Dean asked as he turned onto the rural road that led to the Men of Letters bunker. "Why is little miss sunshine playing us, if Anthriel's actually in the right, here?"

"Did she want us to pity her?" Cas wondered aloud, brow scrunching. "What would that accomplish?"

"Hell if I know, but if she's gonna be running around the bunker for two weeks, we need to figure out what her game is," Dean said.

"If there's any game at all," Cas replied. "Perhaps we just misunderstood. Lailah never directly said she was forced into helping us."

"Cas, let me tell you one thing," Dean said as the bunker came into view. "When it comes to angels, there is _always_ a game."

Cas opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a rumbling sound that came from deep within the earth.

A second later, the Men of Letters bunker exploded.


	60. Fire of Unknown Origin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which boom goes the dynamite, and the chapter title is an extreme contradiction.

Kevin tossed another blood-soaked tissue into the garbage can next to his desk.

"Friggin' nosebleeds," he muttered to himself, attention going back to the tablet. His head pounded painfully as his vision swam and the etchings turned into half-coherent meanings. He narrowed his eyes, pencil poised in hand, and continued the arduous task of trying to make sense of the word of God.

He felt sick to his stomach. His whole body felt like it was about to give out. He desperately needed to sleep.

It wasn't anything new; he usually drove himself to the very edge and then finally gave in and slept. The Winchesters told him not to push himself too hard, to take it easy, but he knew that they were saying that to soothe their own consciences. They wanted him to work as fast as humanly possible and finish translating the tablet so they could do their usual shtick and save the world.

He was almost finished with the third trial, which was fantastic, of course. However, there was a problem. Namely, the fact that the end of the angel trials was the single most complicated, extensive part to translate. It would take him at least another month, and that was being extremely generous, and could only be accomplished if he lived off of nothing but amphetamines and energy drinks for four weeks.

He had a feeling that Cas would want to go on with the angel trials as soon as he had the third one fully decoded – which would be any day, now, possibly even tonight if he didn't faint from exhaustion or blood loss – but he was concerned about the ex-angel flying blind. What if they reopened Heaven, but Castiel died in the process?

 _I guess it would be for the greater good,_ Kevin thought. _But Dean would never forgive me. Ever._

He didn't know what was going on with Dean and Cas. Or rather, _he_ knew what was going on, but he didn't know if the two of them did.

He may have left a little, irrelevant part out when he'd told Dean the specifics about the spell that Metatron used to shut down Heaven. Nephilim heart, Cupid's bow, and the Grace of a seraph… but there was a caveat attached to the final component.

It had to be the Grace of a seraph that was in love with a human.

Kevin still wasn't fully sure why he hadn't told Dean and Cas about that. Maybe it would've sped things along with the two of them and got their heads out of their asses… but he just really felt like it wasn't his place to meddle.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He had to focus. Possible homoerotic man-on-ex-angel romances were none of his business or concern. He couldn't care less who was banging who in the bunker, he just wanted to get this damn tablet finished and stop the war.

The lock on his door jostled. He sighed. Someone wanted in. "What is it?" he called.

"I… I'm sorry, I was just-" Lailah. He recognized the brand new human's voice. Kevin rose to his feet, going to the door and opening it immediately. The small once-angel stood outside, looking nervous. "Hello."

"Hi," Kevin greeted. "It's okay if you're exploring, there's nothing wrong with that." He wasn't really sure how to react to Lailah's presence. "Um... do you want to come in?"

She seemed to consider his offer. "Yes… please."

He closed the door behind her and gave her a small smile. "How are you doing?" he asked.

Lailah turned her eyes to him, adjusting her glasses.

Then she smirked.

"Oh, I'm doing quite fine, prophet," she said, the tone of her voice changing completely. She slipped what appeared to be a hammer out of her back pocket. "Actually, I'm about to be even finer."

Before he had time to react, she slammed the hammer into the side of his head, and he was gone.

* * *

"Dean managed to map out so much of the bunker while we were gone," Sam commented, examining his brother's surprisingly detailed map as he and Crowley walked through a long hallway much deeper into the bunker than Sam had ever gone. Most of what was around here appeared to be storage for fuel and canned goods, in case of some kind of apocalyptic event that forced the Men of Letters to take shelter in the bunker permanently.

"In another life, he would've made a fabulous cartographer," Crowley said mildly, glancing at the map. "I can't believe you've lived here for over nine months and you've never had any urge to look deeper. Where's your sense of adventure, Moose?"

"We've been kind of busy," Sam replied. "First with trying to close the gates of Hell, then I was dying, then I was on the other side of the world, and now we've got the angel trials in our laps. I don't have that much free time."

"If you didn't have to sleep, you would be able to accomplish so much more," Crowley said. "You humans, you're bloody needy things, you know that?"

"Hey, you're part human, you don't get to criticize me," Sam replied with a faint smile.

"I'm part human like you're part demon," Crowley retorted.

"We complete each other," Sam joked. Well, sort of joked.

"And they told me that villains didn't get happy endings." Crowley grinned at him. "Oh, Moose. However could I be so lucky to be doomed to suffering your presence for the rest of your fleeting and meaningless existence?"

"You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself, Crowley."

"I could've had a lucrative career as a self-help guru."

Sam chuckled. "Your talents have been so wasted in Hell."

"Oh, darling, I know." Crowley's amused expression dropped abruptly after a moment, and he stopped in the middle of the hallway. Sam cocked his head, shooting Crowley a confused look. He felt an undercurrent of anxiety over their link.

"What's going on? You look like you just saw a ghost, and trust me, I would know."

"I'm sensing something," Crowley said slowly. "Something... not quite right."

"Where's it coming from?"

Crowley pointed to a nearby door. Sam checked Dean's hand drawn map. "That's one of the backup boiler rooms. If the first one fails, and then the second backup on the other end does too, this one automatically takes over." The Men of Letters had fail safes for everything and anything, and they definitely toed the line between caution and paranoia. He looked up at Crowley. "Let's check it out."

"Let's." Crowley went to the door and opened it, slipping inside. Sam followed behind him. The boiler room was currently inactive, so only the faint red emergency light provided any illumination in the relatively small room. However, something was glowing on the far wall. It was a complicated sigil that glowed an angry bright orange.

"What is that?" Sam asked. He recognized the script, but didn't have enough knowledge of the language to translate it on sight. "It's in Enochian."

"Holy mother of sin," Crowley swore, and he pressed a hand to Sam's chest, forcing him backwards. He could feel fear and confusion from the demon.

"Crowley, what the hell?"

"That's an explosive seal," he said sharply, as if that explained everything. "Give me that map."

He obeyed, handing the demon the folded piece of paper. Crowley examined it quickly.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Sam demanded, his concern growing by the second. He really didn't like the sound of an 'explosive seal'.

"I'll do you one better." A second later, Sam found his head overwhelmed by a flood of information. For a few moments, he was swept up in the wave, but after he got his senses back to him, he understood why Crowley was so worried, and he felt a terror of his own filling him.

"You think there's seals in the other boiler rooms, and they're going to blow any second."

"Yes."

"And you know how to disarm them, but because they could be set to blow any second, if you take the time to go to all three and try to dismantle them, the bunker could blow up and kill us all in the process."

"Also yes."

"So basically we have to get the hell out of here right now, or we're all going to die."

"That's about the long and short of it." He grabbed Sam's arm, and they blinked out, reappearing in Bobby's room. The hunter jumped a solid foot in the air. He'd been sitting at his desk cleaning his pistol.

"Mind givin' me some damn warning next time!?"

"No time - we're all going to die," Crowley explained. A second later, the three of them were in the foyer. Crowley teleported before either of them could get a word out.

_"Crowley!"_

_"Getting the kids,"_ came the quick response in his mind.

 _"Be careful,"_ Sam told him. _"Someone put those seals in here, Crowley. They could still be around."_

_"Oh, quite the contrary, love. I think they've been here this whole time."_

_"You don't think-"_

_"I think Heaven might be trying to smoke us out of our hidey hole. Get the hell out of here, I didn't put you in there just to bumble around."_

_"Do you seriously think I'm going to leave without you?"_

_"YES!"_

"Is Crowley having some kind of mental breakdown?" Bobby inquired, looking utterly lost.

"No," Sam responded firmly, turning to Bobby. "Get out of here, now. Run. It's looking like we're going to lose the bunker."

"What!?"

"There's no time for details, just go!"

"And what am I supposed to do, leave you?"

" _Go_ , Bobby!"

Bobby watched him for a long moment, then a look of understanding seemed to dawn on his face, and he turned and made his way for the stairs. Sam felt Crowley's presence behind him. The demon had Claire by the arm. He shoved her towards Bobby.

"Go with him, Claire. I'll explain everything when we're not all in mortal peril." Claire seemed startled and completely befuddled, but she obeyed, going after Bobby. "Keep her safe!" Crowley yelled after Bobby once he reached the top of the staircase.

"You keep _him_ safe," he responded, nodding towards Sam.

Crowley glared at Sam. "What are you doing, Moose?"

"I'll leave when you leave."

"Idiot!" Crowley was gone again. A second later, scattered images flashed in his eyes as he was partially dragged into Crowley's head, a side effect of the demon lowering his walls down more than usual. He saw Kevin's room. Blood was splattered on his bed spread. Kevin's desk was completely empty of the notebooks and piles of paper that were usually scattered on top of it. Crowley was swearing loudly.

_"Kevin's-"_

_"Gone,"_ Sam filled in. _"Whoever did this must've taken him."_

_"He can't have gotten far, I just saw him less than an hour ago. Also, I believe I know who took him."_

_"Who?"_

_"Lailah isn't in the bunker."_

_"No."_

_"Oh, yes."_

_"We have to find him. And her."_

_"No,_ you _have to get out of here."_

_"Why aren't you leaving!? Everyone's out!"_

_"Because I'm going to try to disable the bloody explosive seals so you don't lose your home and the most valuable collection of supernatural information in the entire world! This is the most powerful place on Earth, and I'm not about to let it slip through our fingers."_

Sam made to respond, but he suddenly felt a great rumbling, which sent him careening into the large table in the foyer's center. The chandelier over his head shook, the dangling glass ornaments colliding together and making a chaotic kind of music. He heard a whining alarm going off in the strategy room.

Crowley was next to him in a split second, hand gripping his tightly. "Change of plans, love. We're about to blow."

Fire erupted around them, ripping through each hallway and incinerating everything in its path. An explosion shook the very earth, and with a horrible groan and a crack, the Men of Letters bunker fell.

* * *

Fire and debris spat up and out of the ground, ash and dirt raining down on them. Dean screamed "NO!" – but he couldn't hear his own voice, as the explosion had blown out his hearing. The resulting blast wave hit them, unbelievably powerful, sending the Impala into a series of rolls until it landed on its roof in the nearby ditch.

The next few moments were a blur of pain and spinning. When the Impala finally came to a halt, Dean's head smacked against the driver's side window, dazing him, but bringing him back into reality. Cas groaned in agony next to him. He looked over at the ex-angel. His eyes were closed.

"C-Cas," he sputtered, reaching over and shaking his friend. There was blood trailing down his forehead. Cas was breathing, but he didn't respond. He was out, then.

Dean struggled to undo his seatbelt. Once he was free, he crashed down into the roof, his arm screaming in response to the collision. He was fairly sure it was broken. He scrambled out of the flipped car, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he was flooded with both panic and adrenaline.

_Bunker's gone. Everybody inside's probably dead. Baby's destroyed. Cas is hurt._

The world was ending, or at least his was.

Dean forced himself to assume that Sammy was still alive, because he knew he wouldn't be able to function if he allowed himself to think of the alternative. Sam. Wasn't. Dead. He couldn't be.

He struggled to his feet, the iron scent of blood in his nostrils. His ears still ringing, he managed to make out someone speaking in the distance… it wasn't English… Enochian, maybe? The guttural sounds seemed to match the angelic language.

Dean ducked behind the embankment. What would angels be doing here? Were they the ones who did this?

"I have the prophet-" that was Lailah. Prophet. Kevin. _He's alive?_

"What of Castiel?" a male voice responded - one he recognized, after a moment.

It was Nisroc. _Bastard._

"Alive and subdued, in the car," she responded succinctly.

Dean ducked his head, hoping that the angels wouldn't see him. He had to figure out a way to take them down. He had an angel blade… but it sounded like there was a large group of them. One man on multiple angels, not exactly good odds.

"And Dean Winchester?"

"I believe he is alive, but killing him will be no issue."

"The others?"

Dean hitched in a breath.

"…All dead."

"Good."

_All dead. No, they can't be. They can't._

Sam. Bobby. Claire. Crowley. If what Lailah said was true, they were all gone.

Dean drew his angel blade. He didn't care about the odds anymore. He was going to destroy these sons of bitches – he didn't care if they were angels. He crept up and out of the embankment, and through the semi-darkness, he made out Lailah, who was standing there with Kevin's still form at her feet. Oh, he was going to make her pay for this.

Dean counted twelve angels standing around what was now a destroyed, smoking, burning hole in the ground. The hole in the ground that used to be his home – the closest thing to a home he'd ever had. Crouching, Dean slowly made his way forward. At least he could get the jump on two of them-

One of the angels next to Nisroc screamed, white light glowing from his eyes. In the illumination, he saw an angel blade poking out of his back. A dark, short figure stood in front of him.

"Really, darling, you shouldn't count your chickens before they're hatched."

_Crowley!_

Another angel was tackled to the ground by a large, fast moving shape that seemed to appear out of nowhere. He would recognize the heavy footsteps anywhere. Sam.

_Sammy's alive._

Reinvigorated and relieved down to the very core of his being, Dean sprinted into the middle of the road and joined the battle that had seemed to start in the span of a few seconds. He stabbed the nearest angel in the back of the skull with his angel blade, twisting as he did so.

There was screaming from the angels, orders shouted over pained exclamations from the ones that were quickly dispatched.

"GET THE PROPHET OUT OF HERE!"

"GET CASTIEL!"

"KILL THE SPARES!"

"CALL REINFORCEMENTS!"

"Dean!?" he heard Sam call from somewhere behind him. Close by, a sudden fire roared in the ruins of the Men of Letters bunker, allowing Dean to actually see what the hell was going on.

"I leave for less than an hour, and you blow the fucking house up?" Dean replied, planting his foot on the angel's back and ripping out his blade, turning to meet a female angel that launched herself at him. She sent him to the ground, his head colliding painfully with the pavement. They struggled for a few moments, the length of her blade dangerously close to his throat, but just as he was about to decapitate him, she was stabbed through the back.

Her body fell to the side. Sam stood over him, breathing hard. He held out his hand and hauled Dean up.

"It's a long story," Sam said quickly. "Duck!"

Dean swiftly did so, just in time for his brother to behead the angel that had come up behind him. Dean rose, turning around, and he and Sam stood back to back. He heard sounds of clashing blades from all around them – and then suddenly it seemed as though they were surrounded.

_Reinforcements. Damn._

The fire roared brighter. Dean tried to keep track of everything that was going on – he could see Crowley battling with an angel out of the corner of his eye, and he was pretty sure he saw a glimpse of both Bobby and Claire – but it was hard to focus on anything but keeping himself alive, at the moment.

"TRAITORS!" a familiar voice screamed.

"Anthriel!?" Dean yelled as he parried a strike from an angel wearing a vessel that was almost as massive as Sam. A second later, a blade appeared through the angel's chest. He fell to the ground after a burst of Grace signified his death, and Anthriel stood behind him.

"Where is Castiel?" she demanded.

"He's in the-" Dean broke off as someone collided with him. He had a jarring impact with the ground that made his injured arm scream in agony. A she-angel was pinning him down. He managed to turn his head just enough to avoid getting impaled through the eye, but the angel blade still left a deep cut in his cheek. Looking angry at the fact that he was still alive, the female angel took the hilt of his blade and slammed it into Dean's face several times.

Black crept in on his vision, and though he fought desperately against it, it still managed to sweep him away.

* * *

The first thing Dean was aware of was a kind of tingling in every inch of his body. Itching and hot, but familiar. A kind of energy he'd felt before... images of dead bodies and the burnt shadows of wings floated into his mind's eye as he came out of sleep, the smell of smoke and blood in his nostrils.

Then, words, faint and distant, "He's coming back."

"How bad was the damage?" That was Sam's voice, he was sure, though he was still fighting to remember the name of the first one who'd spoken. Sam was good. Sam's presence meant that the world still turned and the sky hadn't completely fallen.

He remembered the earth shaking. He'd been in the Impala with Cas, coming back from their meeting with Anthriel... something had gone wrong, so wrong...

"Not as bad as it could've been. A minor concussion and a few hairline fractures on his ribs, a snapped arm, and a lot of cuts and bruises from when the Impala flipped. I should be able to fix him, for the most part."

British accent. Underlying current of smugness and superiority. Crowley. It was Crowley. And Crowley was touching him, doing something to him... he began to sense more of his current surroundings. It felt like he was in a hospital bed. He smelled... what did he smell? Dust. Crowley's too-strong cologne. Sweat. Blood, still, but not as thick as before.

"I think I saw his eyes open for like, half a second."

Like. Girl. Claire.

"Should we pour some cold water on him?" Gruff. Old-ish. Bobby.

He opened is eyes fully, and he immediately shied away from the light that assaulted his retinas. "Dim the lights," Sam said.

Dean heard someone snap their fingers, and the light grew fainter. In Dean's blurry vision, he saw four figures assembled around his bed. Sam, Crowley, Bobby, and Claire. He wondered faintly where Cas was. Probably sleeping off his injuries, wherever they happened to be.

"Dean, can you hear us?" Bobby asked. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision.

"Yeah..." he managed to mutter. He felt like his bones were made of lead. "Angels..."

"Do you remember what happened?" Sam asked quietly.

"I..." Memories flashed through his mind. The bunker exploding. Fighting the angels. "Fuck."

"He remembers," Crowley said. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Squirrel. We all managed to make it out of that delightful little skirmish alive, in case you're wondering."

Dean glanced around the room. He was on a cot that surely belonged in a hospital, in a small, wood-paneled room. Ornate sconces hung on the walls, and there was a intricately carved wooden night stand, bureau, and desk in the room. There was a single, circular window that let in a faint amount of early gray morning light. He didn't have a clue where they were.

"Someone needs to explain to me what the hell happened," Dean told them, and he tried to sit up, but Bobby pushed him back down lightly.

"Easy does it, boy. You've taken a lot of hits tonight."

"My friggin' house just blew sky high, and I want some damn answers!" Dean snapped, though he hadn't meant to. "Sorry," he amended. "I'm just - someone tell me _something_."

"Lailah stabbed us all in the back," Claire provided.

"There was a mass defection with the angels," Sam elaborated. "Nisroc led it, Lailah was a part of it. Xaphan and the demons now have a hundred angels working for them."

Dean thumped his head back on the pillow. "I should've fucking known this would happen." He massaged his head, which still ached dully. "Where are we?"

"Yes, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty," Crowley said. "One of us should've been able to see that she was a traitorous whore, but it's far too late for that now. And we're in western France, near Bordeaux. It's an angel hideout."

"Great," Dean said dryly. "How did Lailah even do it? I thought the bunker was invincible."

"She got a hold of the right ingredients to make explosive Enochian seals," Sam said. "We don't know how many she painted, but Crowley and I found one, and he knew what they were. We managed to get everyone out before it blew, but it was a really close thing."

"Almost everyone," Crowley corrected sharply, and he could see the demon's face flushing with anger.

Dean's heart sped up. "What?"

"Crowley, seriously?" Claire gave him a withering look.

"They KILLED my CAT!" Crowley raged.

"We couldn't grab Aziraphale before the place went up," Sam explained, somewhat exasperated. "That's the least of our problems right now."

"Yeah, no kidding. I saw Lailah with Kevin. Is he-"

"Kid's MIA," Bobby cut him off. "We think some of the angels took Lailah and Kevin and made a run for it when the fighting started."

"Goddamnit," Dean swore, pushing a hand through his hair, which was matted with dried blood.

Once again, they'd let Kevin down. The kid had been their responsibility, and how many times had they let him get taken away from them and put in danger? The prophet had done nothing but give and give and give, and fight for _their_ cause, and what did he get from it? Nothing. They couldn't even keep him safe. "We have to-"

"Kevin isn't the only one unaccounted for," Crowley interrupted him. Sam cast the demon an unsure look, swallowing with difficulty.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked slowly. And then he realized who the demon must've been talking about. "Where the hell is Cas?"

"He was in the car with you, right? When you crashed?" Sam inquired.

"Yeah, now tell me: WHERE. IS. CAS."

"We... it looks like the rogue angels took him along with Kevin," Sam said, watching him carefully, as if he was a bomb that was ready to explode.

"Where?" he demanded immediately, and he felt his heart pick up in his chest, pounding painfully in his rib cage. The last time he'd seen Cas, he'd been bleeding, unconscious, and upside down in the Impala. And now he was gone, and God only knew what the Xaphan and his lackeys wanted with him.

"We don't have any idea just yet where he and Kevin are," Bobby told him. "The angels are looking-"

"What the fuck are we doing sitting here, then? They could be torturing him, they could be planning on killing him, they-"

"You're going to give yourself an aneurysm," Crowley said. "Anthriel and some of her lot are scouring Earth for signs of your dearly beloved and our darling prophet. There's nothing for it, right now. We can't search like angels can."

"Why are you all being so calm about this!? Our home is _gone!_ We lost Kevin - who knows some crazy friggin' apocalypse prophecy - we lost Cas, who is literally our only hope for any of this to turn out okay, and the angels, who are the only thing keeping this planet from being overrun by demons, just lost a huge chunk of their troops."

"We've had some time to come to grips with it," Crowley told him.

"You've were out for like three hours before Crowley had the juice to heal you. Everyone was pretty panic attack-y before, honest," Claire added.

"We're going to find Cas and Kevin, Dean," Sam said. "We will."

"Have you informed Dean of all that's happened?"

Everyone turned their attention to Anthriel, who suddenly appeared on the other side of the room. She looked just as worn down as she had earlier.

"We gave him the cliff notes," Crowley replied. "You don't look like you've come bearing good news."

"We have not yet found Castiel or the prophet. Our scouts are searching. With luck, we will pick up their trail soon." She exhaled sharply. "We have also decided what to do with the five of you. You will stay here until we can discover the location of your friends," Anthriel said. "There are three vacant rooms on the second floor in the left wing that you may use. I'll have my underlings keep the kitchen stocked so that you can sustain yourselves."

"Wait, you're expecting us to sit around here with our thumbs up our asses while the demons do God knows what to Cas and Kevin? Not happening!" Dean burst out angrily.

"You can do nothing until we locate them. Our few remaining seraphs have an infinitely better chance of finding them than you ever would," Anthriel responded stiffly.

"Don't you fucking-" Dean began, but Crowley clamped a hand down on his shoulder, squeezing a little too tightly and effectively cutting him off.

"Whenever you have any news, we want to know immediately," Crowley said in a formal tone. "No action is to be taken without us, is that clear?"

"I don't take orders from you, demon," the seraph replied, narrowing her eyes at Crowley.

"Consider it an aggressive request, then."

The demon and angel had a glare-off for a long moment, and Dean couldn't strictly tell who was winning the battle of wills. Then, finally, Anthriel relented.

"We will inform you when Castiel and the prophet have been found," she said.

"Kevin," Sam corrected tersely. "The _prophet's_ name is Kevin Tran."

"I'm aware." Anthriel flipped her hair over her shoulder in a haughty gesture. "If you have further need of me, pray." The angel was gone in the next eye-blink.

"Wings or not, they're still dicks," Dean growled out before switching his eyes to Crowley. "Why'd you stop me from reaming her out?"

"In case you haven't already figured it out for yourself, allow me to remind you that our list of allies is dwindling very quickly. If Lailah was secretly working with Xaphan and Abaddon, who knows which of these idiots are really pledging allegiance to the right flag? Anthriel may be an entitled, self-righteous hag, but at least we know what side she's really on. We need to stay in her good books." He released Dean's shoulder.

"I can't just sit around while those bastards are… I mean, who knows what they want Cas for? Kevin, it's obvious, he's a prophet, but Cas… what would they even want him for?"

"Abaddon's nothing if not ambitious. You really think she's going to be content with just Hell and Earth? No, she'll want Heaven, too. Cas is the closest link to Metatron around, the closest link to the gates. If she wants to pry open Paradise, Cas is the key," Crowley explained.

Dean knew what that meant, of course. It meant that Cas had information that Abaddon and Xaphan wanted, and that could only mean one thing: torture. A shudder racked his body, and he dugs his blunt fingernails into his palm hard enough to draw blood.

"When I find Lailah, I'm gonna gut her like a fish for this," Dean hissed out.

"You'll have to share, Squirrel," Crowley said darkly.

"No promises," Dean said in a low voice. "Bitch… I can't believe she stabbed us in the back like that."

"I can." Crowley grimaced. "Never trust an angel."

"Look, it doesn't matter right now," Sam said. "Let's just settle in, and then get to work. The angels may think that we're useless, but there are tracking spells that we can try."

"Not to mention, thanks to Crowley's last man standing, we got a list of all the demon hideouts," Bobby tacked on.

"That's all very fine and well, but Abaddon's not going to make it easy to find them. Keep in mind, when you two were hiding Kevin from me, it took me _months_ to find him. And offense completely intended, you two didn't do half the job that they will of hiding him. They'll have wards set up around all of their bases to prevent teleportation, and I'm sure they'll mark Kevin and Castiel up with anti-tracking wards as well. This isn't going to be easy," Crowley informed the room at large.

"Doesn't matter," Dean ground out. "We've gotta find them." He swallowed with difficulty, feeling like his throat was made of sand paper. "Before it's too late."

"If Kevin breaks, it's all over," Sam said quietly, glancing sideways at Crowley. "If the demons find out about whatever it is you and Kevin saw on that tablet-"

"Don't even talk about that here," Crowley said sharply. "And you're right, if that happens, we may as well abandon all hope – but until then, we'll just have to have faith that the cutest little prophet can hold up against whatever Abaddon's flunkies do to him."

"He will," Dean said, and he didn't know if he was trying to convince the others, or if he was trying to convince himself. "He has to."


	61. Where Are You Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas refuses to be broken, and Sam keeps Dean sane.

Consciousness returned to Castiel slowly, and not without significant pain. His thoughts were thick, moving like sludge and giving him very little information to work with. He was on his back, completely flat… a hard surface was underneath him. It wasn't his bed, and Dean wasn't with him. He couldn't smell the familiar scent of Old Spice, and he couldn't hear the hunter's soft snores, which he sometimes woke up to if Dean slept in later than him.

When he tried to move his hands and discovered that they were bound in iron restraints, he knew something was very wrong indeed.

His eyes snapped open, and he fought to suck in a breath. After attempting to budge his feet, he realized his ankles were restrained as well. He took in his surroundings, struggling to keep himself calm. A haze choked his mind, making it difficult to think rationally. He tasted blood on his lips, and much of his body throbbed. He was injured.

He was completely bare, and he shivered from the exposure. The walls of the room he was in were made of solid stone, and they looked old. The other half of the room was taken up by a large cell guarded by rusty iron bars that also betrayed the age of wherever he happened to be, at present. He was strapped to a cot in the other half of the room. A narrow window high up on the wall let in a faint amount of light. There were brackets on the walls, intended for torches, he was fairly sure, but they held no such thing.

He couldn't bend his head enough to see behind him, but he didn't need to see the remainder of the room to know that whatever situation he was in, it was not a good one. He scrabbled in his brain for memories, trying to recall-

It slammed into him with a force that stole his breath away. The trembling deep in the ground, the explosion, the Impala getting tossed away like it was feather light… Dean screaming… and darkness.

The bunker had been destroyed. And now he was here, most likely captured by whoever had taken him. However, he had bigger problems than his own apparent captivity. What had happened to everyone inside of the bunker? What had happened to Dean? Who had destroyed their home and taken him?

Cas jerked when a deceptively gentle hand brushed the hair out of face, fingers scraping his scalp. "Ah, good. You're awake." The voice was quiet and male, unthreatening, but it still made his blood feel like frigid water in his veins. The owner of the voice circled him, stopping by his feet so Cas could meet his eyes.

He was about Crowley's height, with short brown hair that fell slightly into his eyes, eyes that were so pale blue that they looked almost white. He was dressed in a simple black button down and black slacks. He was tying a white apron around himself. There were stains on it, brown now, but Cas was quite sure that they had been bright crimson at one point.

"It's good to finally meet you, Castiel," he said, coming closer to stand over Cas.

"Who are you?" Cas asked hoarsely. He wished for his True Sight, because he would've been able to tell if the being in front of him was human, demon, or angel.

"My name is Daityas."

Cas had heard the name before – one of the old administration in Hell. He'd assumed that he had been killed during Crowley's purges post-apocalypse, but apparently not. So, he was in the hands of demons.

"What do you want with me?" Cas asked, though he already knew, to some extent, what with his current position and given the fact that Daityas was now wheeling a steel cart littered with medical instruments around the cot he was bound to, not unlike the one Crowley had used when he had been torturing his way through the monster hierarchy several years beforehand.

"I want many things, Castiel," Daityas told him, halting the cart at Cas's right side. "Your affiliations with Heaven, the Winchesters, the former King, and the prophet make you a very valuable source of information."

"Where are my friends?" he asked stiffly, trying to quell the fear slowly building in his stomach. He had been tortured as an angel more than a few times, first when he had been recalled to Heaven and punished for his wavering loyalties, and then repeatedly over the past year by Naomi. However, being tortured as a celestial being, it provided at least a modicum of detachment from the experience.

Daityas picked up a scalpel, and the light hit it, refracting in fragmented white shards along the grimy stone walls.

There was no longer any barrier between him and the pain he faced. Everything he felt, every rip of skin and slice of flesh, he would feel all of it, because this was no longer a borrowed body and he was no longer a disembodied wave of celestial intent.

He was human, and humans felt pain poignantly… he had found that out when Bela had thrown him out of the window of her manor.

"Dead," Daityas said shortly. "Or rather, the Winchesters are dead."

"No," Cas said immediately going rigid. His entire mind and body refuting the information he'd just been told. "NO."

"I'm afraid it's quite true. Sam Winchester was killed when we destroyed your bunker… the shock wave knocked you and the older Winchester unconscious. We dispatched him, and we took you, along with the prophet."

"The Winchesters are not dead," Cas growled, the sound almost feral. "You're lying."

"I understand that this is one of the stages of grief, yes? Denial?" Daityas nodded. "Very… _human_ of you, angel. I wondered how much having your wings plucked would affect you. If the tears in your eyes are any indication, I would say that you lost more than just your Grace when Heaven was slammed shut."

Tears. Yes, there were tears in his eyes. He blinked and they spilled down his cheeks. Crying was an unfamiliar feeling, but with the deep-set terror in his chest and the crushing loss that threatened to overwhelm him, he was unable to hold himself in check. The Winchesters could not be dead. Not after everything.

 _Dean_ couldn't be dead.

He would've felt it, surely. It was true that he was no longer an angel, but he and Dean were connected. If he was no longer on this Earth, Cas would know. He would feel an emptiness inside of him, not this – this strange and incomprehensible mess of fear and rage. Rage that the demon in front of him would _dare_ to try to make him believe that he'd lost the boys.

"You lie, demon," Castiel said, and for a moment, perhaps he could believe that he was an angel again. "Take your opportunity to run, now, because when the Winchesters come for you, there will be no escape." Because they would come. They _would._

Daityas smiled at him. His teeth were white and bleached like bones left out in the sun. "No one is coming for me, Castiel, just as no one is coming for you. You are mine."

"I belong to no one, and especially not to you."

Suddenly the scalpel was at his lips. "Cas – that is what you're human friends call you, isn't it? – you are about find out that, yes, you _do_ belong to me. I am going to carve my name into that supple flesh of yours, and I will be your master, and it will be exquisite." Daityas's eyes flashed, but instead of the black or white that Castiel expected, he saw the red of the Crossroads reflected in the depths of the demon's irises.

"You're a Crossroads demon," Castiel said, and the movement of his lips caused the sharpened scalpel to dig in further and elicit a drop of blood. He felt it trail down his chin, and it itched. "Why would you be given the task of torturing me? I would think that Abaddon would attend to it herself, or one of Alastair's protégés."

"The Queen would never waste her time on a human," Daityas replied, watching the blood ooze down Castiel's chin with almost profane interest. "And none of Alastair's protégés remain. They were loyal to Lucifer, and unfortunately, that led to their demise… as for me, well, I'm what you would call 'Special Operations'… and this task, it is very special indeed."

The scalpel moved, trailing along his jaw line. Daityas stared at him, pale eyes unblinking. "By the time we are done, you will have told me everything that I want to know. Starting with everything you know about where the angels have built their strongholds, where the former King resides, who has been feeding him information, and every single detail about the last remaining archangel, who you have supposedly had contact with."

It was a long list of demands, and Cas fully intended not to meet any of them. "You will not break me."

"Oh, Castiel… you have me all wrong."

He dug in the tip of the scalpel just underneath his ear, and Cas was unaware of how hypersensitive the area was. He flinched as the steel pierced his skin and went in about half an inch. He gritted his teeth and did everything he could do hold back the pained growl building in his throat. He didn't want to give Daityas the satisfaction of eliciting any kind of noise from him.

"I don't break the creatures on my table… no, 'break' would imply that I destroy, when really, I build. I _create_. I carve and I cut and in the process I mold a completely new being from the blood and marrow. Few can do what I can. It's an art, truly."

"You're insane," Cas said, his voice rough as he the scalpel went in deeper.

"I've been called worse," Daityas said, seemingly practically cheerful. "It's been such a long time since I've worked on a fragile, fleeting being such as yourself… but I look forward to the challenge."

The scalpel was removed from where it was currently buried, and a second later, it was buried in his stomach and twisting.

Though he hated himself for it, he screamed.

* * *

"Dean, you need to eat something."

"Can't."

"You can't just sit in here and… what… stare at the wall, looking really pissed off?"

"I _am_ really pissed off. And I don't want to eat."

Sam bitch-faced him and gave him the brotherly sigh to end all sighs, but Dean ignored him.

Dean sat on his new bed in the château, in the admittedly swanky room he'd been relocated to. He'd apparently been in the servants' quarters when he'd been recovering from his injuries, but now he was living the high life on the second floor. King sized bed, a chandelier, silver candelabras, a circular stained glass window at the apex of the slanted room… it was the whole nine yards.

At the moment, though, the décor had little effect on him. At first, after he'd initially woken up, he had been wired, full of adrenaline and ready to do something. However, the day had quickly been reduced to waiting for Crowley to get back with what they hoped could be the ingredients to a spell that could help them track Cas, and the map of the demon hideouts that Laharl had created.

It was three in the afternoon in France, and he was facing an excruciatingly long day of doing absolutely nothing while Cas and Kevin were…

He sucked in a sharp breath. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw one or both of them drenched in blood, covered in hideous wounds. In the silence, he heard screams, he heard pleading and whimpering. He wanted to be alone, but Sam's presence staved off some of the nightmarish visions playing out in his head, so Dean was keeping his brother by his side.

Plus, the fact that Sammy was alive, completely unharmed, and nearby was one of the only things keeping him sane right now.

Anthriel was with Claire, apparently training her – Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that, but they were at the point now that they didn't have much choice but to trust the bitch – and Bobby was exploring the massive château and expansive vineyard that filled the rolling green hills surrounding it. Knowing him he was probably looking for quick getaway routes, instead of enjoying the scenery, but regardless, he was occupied.

So, Sam was getting a front row seat to his low key mental breakdown, and he didn't seem like he was relishing his position. Fortunately (or unfortunately) Sam was too good of a brother to tell Dean to go screw himself and leave him on his own.

"We're going to get them back, Dean."

"We never should have lost them in the first place!" Dean snapped. "We should've known better, Sam, bringing in an angel we'd never met before into the bunker and just assuming that she wasn't going to fuck us over. What the hell were we thinking? When has trusting angels ever turned out well for us?"

"We were thinking that we wanted to complete the second trial, and Lailah was the only way to do it," Sam told him. "She was a good actor. I never even thought-"

"That's the point, Sam. We didn't think. It's our _job_ to think."

"Blaming ourselves for this isn't going to help Cas or Kevin," Sam informed him bluntly.

"I fucking know that!" Dean exclaimed, standing up in a flash and rounding on his brother. "That's the entire point, Sammy, there's nothing we can do right now to help them. I don't even want to think about what the demons are doing to them. No matter what we do, chances are, we're probably gonna be too late. We can't expect Kevin not to break, not if Abaddon's got her best working on him. And Cas?" He felt like he was going to be sick. "I don't even know what plans they've got for Cas."

"They have to keep Cas alive if they want to open up Heaven," Sam reasoned.

"You can be alive and still be dead," Dean said, lowering his voice. "You can be worse than dead, and still be alive."

"Cas is one of the strongest guys we know. Give him some credit."

"Look, Sam, I've seen the kind of shit that demons like Abaddon dish out. If she's got someone working on Cas and Kevin, it's going to be one of the old gang. Kind of people that turn torture into an _art_. When you get put on the rack like that, it doesn't matter how strong you are, because it's never gonna be enough. They're human. _Just_ human."

"We've got an army of angels on our side. Anthriel has scouts out looking for them, we're searching too... we're doing everything we can."

"I should've done more when it counted. Why is it that every time the chips are down, I manage to mess it up, huh?" He kicked the frame of the bed with poorly restrained rage, and he barely registered the fact that he'd gone from using 'we' to using 'I'. "Damn it, I'm cursed! I swear to God, I'm _fucking cursed!_ Everything I touch, it just... it breaks. It always breaks."

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders, forcing him to look at him. "You need to calm down, and stop this."

"Stop what?" Dean growled. "And don't you dare tell me to calm down! In the past twenty-four hours, we lost our home - the only place that's been home for either of us in over thirty years - we lost the kid who we swore we would protect, and we lost our best friend. So don't you fucking tell me-"

"The one man pity party isn't helping anything, Dean," Sam cut across him. "You do this every time something goes wrong. Next you'll start going through half a bottle of whiskey a night and not sleeping. I know you want to think that everything bad in the universe is on us, or on you - and yeah, sometimes it is - but the last thing any of us need right now is for you to check out and go on some heartbroken bender."

Dean stared at his brother, temporarily shocked into silence by the uncharacteristic sharpness of Sam's voice and the anger in his eyes. "What the hell, Sam?" was all he managed to get out.

"I need you to hold it together," Sam said, slow and deliberate. "For me. For all of us." Sam squeezed his shoulders, softening the blow of his words somewhat.

"Sam..." Dean shook his head.

"Dean. Please."

Dean and Sam stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them saying anything. He wanted to be strong for Sam, but he felt like something had been ripped out of his chest, and there was nothing but a gaping hole in its place, and the rest of him was slowly leaking out of it. On some level, he knew that he needed to snap out of it, for everyone's sake, but... he'd never felt like his pieces were further apart, and he wasn't sure if he could pull them all back together this time.

But looking at Sam, at his little brother, well... he decided that he at least had to try. Because _this_ was all wrong, Sam having to pick him up off of the ground, having to be Dean's strength... that wasn't how it was supposed to work, and he didn't want to put that burden on Sam.

Dean finally nodded. "Alright... yeah. Okay." He wasn't sure what else to say. "Okay, Sammy."

Sam pursed his lips, clapped him on the shoulder, then released him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, and Dean didn't know specifically what he was talking about it, but he didn't ask.

But then something Sam said repeated itself in his brain; _heartbroken._

"Wait a minute," Dean said. "Heartbroken? What do you mean?"

"What?"

"You said I was heartbroken."

"Well. Uh." Sam scratched at the back of his neck. "I mean, you and Cas."

"What _about_ me and Cas?"

Sam sighed heavily. "Are we seriously going to have this conversation right now?"

"What conversation!?"

Sam put a hand to his forehead, looking like he was stuck dealing with a particularly exasperating child. "Look, Dean, I'm not blind. I can-"

Sam was forced to break off when there was a sudden crash from behind them. Dean and Sam whirled around immediately, Dean drawing his angel blade and Sam pulling out Ruby's knife. They were met with the sight of Crowley kneeling on Dean's bed, covered in blood, and cradling what appeared to be a mangled corpse in his arms.

"Hello boys," Crowley coughed out. "I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem."


	62. War All the Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the M rating is finally sort-of warranted, and loyalty comes with a price.

Castiel was adept at putting his thoughts elsewhere. Being as old as the Earth itself, regardless of his current species, gave him many crevices filled with memories that he could bury himself within. Granted, much of them had been reduced to blank white space due to his torture at Naomi's hands and his amnesia after he released the Leviathan, but he still had thousands and thousands of years of intact recollections within his now limited human brain.

It almost hurt, sometimes, having so much information stored there and lacking the complete faculties to grasp it all, but for the moment, it was one of the only things that was keeping him even remotely sane. Though, arguably, he had passed sane several hours ago.

While Daityas drove needle-thin spikes into his brain, Cas watched the Tower of Babel fall.

As they dug in further, with one in particular pressing against the pain center of his brain and threatening to blow every coherent thought into oblivion, he was watching with detached interest as Uriel leveled Sodom and Gomorrah. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Blood dripped down his face, into his eyes, and Rome was burning.

Daityas was precise and cruel with his methods, in a way that reminded Castiel strongly of Crowley. He wondered how Daityas had discovered this method of torture, usually used specifically for angels. Had he heard about Crowley's exploits with Samandiriel and decided to try it himself?

But Castiel wasn't an angel anymore. There was no code to crack, because he had been cracked open long ago. Now there was just him, just Castiel, and the white hot pain that tore through him and stripped him down to a bare, broken creature threatened to reduce him to the worst thing he could possibly imagine: a traitor.

Daityas's thumb pressed into the nail in the center of Cas's forehead, pushing it in an inch further. He screamed, and it echoed off of the stone walls as if there were a hundred of him. He forced himself back into his vivid recollection of pulling Dean out of the Pit. He remembered slaying demon after demon with righteous wrath, tearing through thousands of them to get to Dean.

When he found Dean, he was bent over a girl who was probably the same age as Claire. He'd been in the process of skinning her alive. Castiel had fought Alastair, briefly, but the demon had vanished once he realized that the demons wouldn't win the battle for Dean. It left him alone with Dean, who was holding a bloody scalpel and staring at him with wide eyes. The girl on the rack writhed, whimpered, and begged.

Dean hadn't seemed to notice.

For a moment, Cas feared that he was too late… until he looked at Dean's soul. It may have been wrapped in an oppressive darkness that was trying very desperately to smother it, but beneath the black it was still brilliant, still shining, still hope in a wasteland of misery and damnation.

"Who are you?" Dean had asked him then, voice hoarse.

"I am Castiel. I have come to raise you from Perdition."

And so he gripped the Righteous Man's shoulder, burning his handprint into the flesh there, and he returned Dean's soul to the Earth.

"Castiel… you're crying, angel… are you crying because of the pain, or because you know that no one is coming to save you?"

Damn the demon and his lies. Castiel's friends – his _family_ – would come for him. Dean would come for him, because Dean wasn't dead. So long as he believed that, clung to that thought, he would still draw breath and he would resist Daityas with everything that he had. He had rebelled for Dean, fell for him, given up everything he ever was all for one human. He could hold on for him, now. He had to.

When his head resembled a pin cushion and every second brought with it a fresh new Hell, Daityas departed from his skull and began his work sticking the thin spikes into his pressure points. Every time Cas thought that the agony couldn't possibly get any worse, his expectations were immediately defied. How long would his body even be able to survive, under such duress?

He was fairly sure Daityas was periodically healing him, so as not to kill him, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of very many things anymore.

As time passed, Cas departed from the annals of history and instead chose to take shelter in more recent memories. The time Dean had attempted to take him to a strip club. Watching the stars with the Winchesters on that late summer night as the world slowly headed towards Armageddon. A snowball fight between Dean and Sam at Bobby's that had both amused and confused him.

Waking up in Dean's arms, cocooned in the hunter's warmth. Waiting to rouse Dean from his sleep, because Cas wanted to enjoy the moment while he could.

Castiel had watched the Earth turn for so long, seen so many things, but nothing really compared to those stolen moments with Dean Winchester.

So he gripped them, and he gripped them tightly, because they were all he had left.

After what was probably only five or six hours but felt like several centuries, Daityas left with a promise to return later. He told him he was going to spend some time with Kevin. If Castiel had been capable of rational thought, he would've been terrified for the prophet, but he was drowning in his pain, losing the capacity for much other than misery and fear – fear for himself.

Fear for when Daityas returned.

Cas slipped in and out of consciousness for a time, what fragments remained of his mind drifting in and out of darkness. However, when he heard the door to his prison open, he awoke immediately, eyes snapping open and body jolting, which sent a torrent of agony coursing through his veins. He whimpered as Daityas returned to his side, smiling down at him softly.

"You and the prophet are both stronger than I imagined," he said quietly. "Given time, I am sure that I could elicit every piece of information I desire from the both f you… but according to my superiors, time is of the essence. A pity, really."

Slowly, painstakingly, Daityas began removing each and every spike from Castiel's body. Cas was half-sure that it hurt more having them taken out then having them put in. Tears ran down his face, drying on his cheeks and creating an itch that he wasn't able to scratch. He'd long since bitten through his bottom lip, and his tongue was throbbing from where his teeth had mangled it. His mouth tasted of nothing but blood.

When twenty six spikes sat on the bloodstained steel cart next to Cas's cot, Daityas leaned over him, his face just a few inches from him. Cas smelled sulfur.

"I'm going to flip you over, now."

His restraints were undone, and there was still just enough of a spark left inside of him that he attempted to fight back – attempted being the key word. As soon as he tried to move his arm with the intention to grab Daityas's neck, it gave out, falling uselessly at his side. He was unable to properly move any of his limbs, a side effect of what the demon had done to him.

"Nothing works quite right anymore, does it? Do you wish you could leave your body, like you could when you were a true angel? It must be difficult, being in a prison made of your own suffering."

"Die," Castiel managed, the first word he'd spoken in hours. It came out as more of an unintelligible growl, as his voice had long since been destroyed from the prolonged screaming.

Daityas chuckled. "Spirited, even after all of this… you're an interesting thing, Castiel." The demon turned him over onto his stomach with ease, and then redid Cas's restraints. He felt icy terror pooling in his stomach. It was worse. Oh, it was far worse. Daityas hadn't even touched him yet, and he knew it was going to an unfathomable nightmare.

Because now, he couldn't see what Daityas was doing.

"Hmm… unfortunate, all of this Enochian warding you have," Daityas said, guiding a cold fingertip, deceptively gentle, over the extensive wards tattooed on his lower back. "I'll have to leave these untouched. We wouldn't want the angels to be able to find you, now would we?"

Daityas flattened his hand between Cas's shoulder blades. "This, on the other hand…" The hand left. Cas heard a strange sound behind him, and he couldn't determine what it was – until he felt an excruciating burning sensation right where his anti-possession tattoo was. The demon was using a blow torch on him. Cas flailed against his restraints and let out a pained shout.

After a moment, Daityas placed the blow torch back on the cart. Castiel could smell his skin burning, and bile burned in the back of his throat.

Daityas bent down next to him, turning Castiel's head to the side so he could make eye contact. The demon seemed almost put out. "My Queen advised this," he said. "Though it seems… crude, almost. Like the easy way out." He tipped Cas's chin up. "However, I am nothing if not loyal."

The demon opened his mouth, and smoke poured out. Castiel realized what was going to happen a second before it did.

 _No no no no no._ Castiel's mind was his safety, his sanctuary, the thing he was so very determined to protect. And now Daityas was going to violate that final safe haven, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't move, he couldn't fight… he was helpless.

In that moment, Castiel wished he was dead. Better dead than a puppet of a monster.

Smoke poured down his throat, acrid and choking. It felt like there was some kind of awful sludge creeping through him, drowning him from the inside. It reminded him of how it felt to have the Leviathan inside of him.

But then, something happened. Something neither the once-angel or the demon expected.

Cas coughed, hard, and loud, and with a burst of white-blue electricity that temporarily blinded him, Daityas was quickly expelled from his body, sending the torrent of the demon's smoke form back to its original vessel. Once Daityas was back in his typical meat suit, he gasped in – in pain? – and arched his back… almost as if he was being shocked repeatedly.

Cas let out a groan as every inch of him suddenly felt like a live circuit – even more so than usual. The buzzing of the trials that was constantly underneath his skin amped up to an almost painful, continuous current. Cas's vision faded out for a few moments, but when it returned, his wounds had miraculously stopped paining him.

He felt like Daityas had never touched him at all.

 _But how?_ The only reasonable explanation he could come up with was that the power from the trials, the foreign energy housed in his body, had somehow expelled the demon from his system and also healed him completely. If so, the effects of the angel trials were stronger than he ever imagined. Right now, Cas was indescribably grateful for their presence.

The shocked demon pushed himself up off of the floor, his vessel's limbs trembling under his weight. He stood, steadying himself against the table. Daityas narrowed his pale eyes at Cas, his lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.

"Isn't that fascinating?" he murmured. "Your body rejected me… that's never happened before."

"Don't go… where you don't… belong…" Cas forced the words out hoarsely.

Daityas placed a hand on his cheek, looking down at him with a sick kind of fondness that made Cas's skin crawl. "What won't work on you will certainly work on Kevin Tran," the demon said. "It seems I'll have to return to my favored methods for you… I'm sure Abaddon will understand."

Cas heard the sound of the blow torch behind him once more.

* * *

"What the hell?" Sam burst out as he took in the scene in front of him. Sam didn't recognize the burned and bloody body in Crowley's arms, but even if he did know them, he doubted he would be able to tell, given the extent of their injuries.

Images flashed through Sam's mind of a bloody fight, no doubt bleeding over from Crowley, but they were fragmented and incoherent.

Crowley himself appeared injured, though not nearly as severely. His suit jacket was gone, his tie was askew, and he was covered in a series of cuts, bruises, and minor burns. His lip was split in two, and blood leaked down his chin.

"Call Anthriel," Crowley instructed them. "We can still save him, but I can only do so much."

"Who's _him_?" Dean asked, and Sam could hear the worry in his brother's voice.

"It's Laharl," Crowley explained, spitting a clump of blood on the comforter. He twisted, laying the other demon's body down flat on Dean's bed. "Abaddon and Xaphan's forces found him. I barely got there in time."

"Why didn't he smoke out?" Sam asked.

"He's too weak," Crowley explained impatiently. "His essence is almost destroyed. They sent angels after him, which means wounds from angel blades, which means GET ANTHRIEL HERE RIGHT THE HELL NOW!"

"Okay, okay." Dean stared up at the ceiling. "Anthriel! We need you – get your ass over here."

"What has happened?"

Sam and Dean turned. Anthriel stood by the door. Her eyes immediately went to the dying demon on the bed. "What is that?"

"A very valuable source of information who is dying very quickly, and unless you want him to drift into the great beyond, I suggest you get over here and do the angelic Florence Nightingale act before it's too late."

"You expect me to heal a demon?" Anthriel asked, condescension blatant in her tone.

"No, by all means, go ahead and let him die! God knows I wouldn't want you to strain yourself in order to stop the planet from being roasted alive!" Crowley replied scathingly, teeth gritted in anger. "If you and the Bible Brigade want your prophet and your messiah, then you better get your pert ass over here and fix him, demon or not."

Anthriel looked practically scandalized, but after a moment's hesitation, she pushed past Dean and Sam and made her way to Laharl. She laid her fingertips down on his forehead and took a deep breath. A faint blue light suffused the demon. Almost a minute passed before the seraph removed her hand and turned to the Winchesters.

"He is healed. It will take him time for his essence to fully regain control of his host, but he should wake within a few hours," she informed them before flicking her piercing gaze to Crowley. "Why is this demon so important?"

"He's the proverbial ace up my sleeve; my only remaining loyalist. He's been doing nothing but gathering intelligence on Xaphan and Abaddon's forces since the two of them passed 'Go'. He knows all of their hidey holes, who's in charge where, what they're planning... he can lead us to Kevin and Castiel."

"How did they even catch up with him?" Sam asked. "I thought Laharl was on the _down_ down-low. The only people who know about him are-" Sam broke off abruptly, realization dawning on him, a realization that went hand in hand with horror.

"What? What is it?" Dean asked, immediately catching Sam's change in expression.

"Context clues, Squirrel," Crowley said in a low voice, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and rising to his feet. "If only the three of us, Bobby, Castiel, and Kevin know about Laharl and what rock he was hidden under, then..." The demon king frowned, and Sam felt a strong current of anxiety over their bond. "We've a leak. Which means... either Castiel or Kevin's cracked."

"No," Dean almost spat the word out, and there was nothing desperate about, it was just a simple and powerful denial. "They wouldn't. Not this fast. Cas and Kevin are gonna hold out as long as they can."

"There are six people who know about Laharl," Crowley said slowly, as if he was talking to a child. "Now, the demons and their fallen angel collaborators know about him, too. I did not tell the opposition, for obvious reasons. I would know if Sam did, seeing as I'm the devil on his shoulder whether he likes it or not. I would assume that due to that whole 'integrity' and 'loyalty' business, that you and Bobby didn't say anything either. We're currently missing two pieces of our jigsaw puzzle, who just so happen to be in the hands of our enemies... so, in summary: one of them told, and we're all going to have to hope to hell that it was Castiel and not Kevin, because if the cutest little prophet's already been dissected, then we're all doomed."

"Hope?" Dean repeated, encroaching on Crowley. "You want me to hope that those bastards _broke_ Cas?" He grabbed the demon by the front of his shirt, face a mask of rage. "Cas. Didn't. Tell. He _wouldn't_ tell. Never."

"Dean," Sam warned. Crowley merely stared at Dean.

"Get off of me," Crowley said quietly, but with a dangerous current hiding underneath his words. "I'm not in the mood for grab-ass."

Dean shoved Crowley away with unnecessary force. He huffed out a breath, turned on his heel, and departed the room, slamming the door behind him.

Sam sighed. Under different circumstances, he would've thought that Dean was being childish... but this was about Cas, and when it came to Cas, Dean's emotions always ended up being cranked up to eleven. He didn't want to even fathom the idea that either Cas or Kevin had been broken so quickly... but there was no other explanation for how the demons and fallen angels would've been able to find Laharl.

He wanted to go after his brother, but he knew from Dean's stormy expression and the tense set of his shoulders that he was in a mood that made him immune to reason and not wanting company of any variety. Dean needed to be alone, and for now, Sam would grant him that much.

"Humans," Anthriel said with a slightly exasperated shake of her head. She flicked her eyes between Sam and Crowley. "Notify me when the demon awakens."

She disappeared without another word, leaving Crowley and Sam alone.

Crowley's gaze was fixed on Laharl. In spite of the fact that Crowley's right hand man was healed of his injuries, he was still wearing destroyed clothes, and he was soaked thoroughly with blood. Wordlessly, Sam went to the bathroom attached to Dean's room. He found a wash cloth and got it reasonably damp, then returned to Crowley's side. The King finally looked up at him, and Crowley seemed... he just seemed so tired.

"We should clean him up," Sam told him. After a moment, Crowley nodded. He took the wash cloth from Sam and set about mopping up the copious amounts of dried blood on his minion's face.

It occurred to Sam in that moment that Crowley might genuinely care for Laharl, and vice versa. After all, they had been the only two demons on the good side of the fence during this war... Laharl was the only one who had stayed by Crowley's side through his usurpation.

Seeing him get ripped apart by angels... Sam could tell from the slew of negative emotions that he caught wind of over their link that it hadn't been a pleasant experience for the demon king.

Sam found a spare comb in the bathroom and used it to try to brush some of the splattered gore out of Laharl's short, dark hair. After a few minutes of diligent work, the only thing that betrayed that the demon had been in any kind of altercation were his tattered clothes.

Sam got another washcloth, and without asking, he approached Crowley. He put a hand on Crowley's cheek, tilting his head up so that he could begin to clean the demon's features as well. Crowley's eyes drifted shut as Sam gently rubbed the wet cloth across his skin, clearing off the reminders of the fight with care.

Their bond was relatively silent at the moment, and Sam wasn't sure if he liked it. _"Are you okay?"_ the hunter eventually asked. Sam brushed a few strands of the demon's hair to the side as he cleaned his forehead. Crowley's jaw tensed, and Sam wondered if he was going to answer at all.

 _"I'm starting to understand how you and your brother feel ninety percent of the time,"_ Crowley finally replied, eyes still closed.

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Everything going wrong. All of the time. Dominoes falling... and falling... and falling."_ Crowley let out a pent up breath. _"Sometimes I wonder how you even get up in the morning, Moose."_

 _"Sometimes I wonder too,"_ Sam admitted. _"Welcome to being good, Crowley."_

 _"And what a never-ending pleasure it is,"_ the demon responded dryly.

 _"It gets better,"_ Sam told him as he finished scraping the last remainder of blood from Crowley's jaw. He patted the demon's cheek, then departed the room to trash the wash cloth. When Sam returned, Crowley was sitting on Dean's bed by Laharl's feet.

"Better, hmm?" Crowley said aloud. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Well, okay, it doesn't really get better," Sam acquiesced. He sank down next to Crowley. "But you do get used to it."

Crowley fell quiet again. A quiet Crowley was one that worried him. Sam watched Crowley's profile, trying to glean something from his now clean face, but he was as inscrutable as ever. The iron walls around his thoughts were up and fortified, blocking Sam out of his mind.

At a loss as to what else could be said to comfort the demon, Sam simply set his hand on Crowley's shoulder and squeezed.


	63. Dark Come Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which lies are told about umbrellas, and even angels can pray.

The moon was full. Full and bright. It was the only illumination in Dean's room, as Crowley hadn't deemed it necessary to turn the lights on. It was late, now, long past midnight. He'd actually lost track of time.

The oldest Winchester had never returned to his room; Crowley didn't know where he had gotten off to, and at the moment, didn't particularly care. Squirrel's tantrum didn't hold any interest for him.

Sam had stayed with him, and that meant something, though neither of them said anything, as was typical of the two of them. Theirs was a friendship made up of small gestures that said far more than words from either of them ever could. Crowley was gifted when it came to words, and Sam's time at Stanford had given him similar talents, but nonetheless, certain things would only be degraded if spoken about aloud.

So they sat side by side in the silence, on two wooden chairs that were certainly built for men Crowley's size, and not Sam's, and they waited.

In the middle of the night, Laharl inhaled sharply, indicating that he had finally been roused from the depths of unconsciousness. Crowley leaned forward, watching the other demon's face intently. Sam mimicked him.

"He's waking up," he murmured. Crowley merely nodded. He found his foot anxiously tapping against the floor. This had never been his intention – he'd never meant to go and get himself attached to Laharl, but he'd been unsuccessful in preventing himself from becoming fond of his last remaining loyalist.

Laharl's faith in Crowley was unshakeable; few people in the entirety of his life had ever granted him that, and he was more grateful for it than the other demon would ever know, regardless of the fact that Laharl's interests rested mainly in keeping himself alive, and then worming his way into a powerful position when and if Crowley was able to take back the throne that was rightfully his.

Good help was hard to come by. He'd gotten invested. A bad idea, really, but it was far too late to turn back now.

The demon's misty blue eyes flickered open, accompanied by a heavy gasp. Laharl sat up sharply, looking wildly around the room in a hazy confusion. Waking up was most likely a disorienting sensation to him, as demons so rarely had the experience of sleeping or awaking.

Crowley set his hand on his minion's shoulder. Laharl turned his head, meeting Crowley's eyes. "Boss," he breathed out, sounding relieved. "What the hell?" His gaze flicked down to his destroyed clothed and the dried blood stains on the bed. "Jesus."

"What do you remember?" He was getting déjà vu from their conversation with Dean the day before.

"I…" After a moment, Laharl puffed out an irritated breath. "Ah, fuck. They found me."

"They did," Crowley said with a nod. "Luckily they found you while I was there, and I was able to save your delicate ass from being spit-roasted by Xaphan's angels."

"Well, thanks," Laharl said, scratching the back of his neck. "I guess this makes up for the whole brutal torture thing, huh?"

"Still on about that, are you?" Crowley asked dryly. "You certainly know how to hold a grudge."

"One of my talents," Laharl responded sardonically. His attention went to Sam, and he examined him. "This Baby Winchester?"

"Sam," Sam said. "Crowley's talked a lot about you."

"I'm blushing," Laharl said. "He talks about you a lot, too. It's actually kind of annoying."

_"You talk to your lackeys about me?"_ Sam asked in his head, sounding amused.

_"I just complain about your dreadful fashion sense,"_ Crowley responded dismissively.

Crowley swatted Laharl on the back of the head, not pleased with his over-sharing. "That's quite enough of that. Now, let's brass these tacks: do you remember all of the locations of the demon hideouts? Your maps were burned when the tree-toppers went Seal Team Six on your safe house."

Laharl tapped the side of his head. "All up here, boss."

"Excellent. Now, don't be alarmed, but you're going to have to play nice with a few angels. Think you can manage?"

Laharl shrugged. "As long as they don't stab me, I ain't got any problem with it."

"Brilliant." Crowley flicked his eyes to Sam. "Moose?"

Sam's eyes turned to the ceiling. "Anthriel? Come back. Laharl's awake… and bring Dean with you, too." He felt a current of worry from Sam. Neither of them had seen Dean in hours, and Sam was no doubt concerned as to what his brother had gotten into.

"Christ!"

Sam and Crowley rose from their chairs, turning, and they saw that Dean and Anthriel were behind them, Anthriel's hand like a claw on Dean's shoulder. He glared daggers at the female angel.

"You can't just beam me up like that without saying anything!" Dean protested, shaking her hand off.

"You were doing nothing of import," Anthriel pointed out.

"I was taking a piss, does that count?" Dean zipped up his fly indignantly.

Anthriel rolled her eyes as if to say, _"Disgusting human."_ She pushed past Sam and Crowley, standing in front of Laharl.

"Are you the demon that knows the location of Xaphan and Abaddon's bases?" she asked, wasting no time.

"That's me," Laharl said, eyeing the angel warily.

"Come with me. We have a world map in our war room. You will mark all of the locations that you are aware of."

"The world 'please' mean anything to you, lady?" Laharl asked, but he stood nonetheless. "Fine. Lead the way."

Anthriel turned, and Laharl followed behind her.

Crowley wasn't sure how comfortable he was with the idea of Laharl being alone with Anthriel – simply because he wasn't sure he could trust Anthriel not to smite Laharl if he got too mouthy. Sam caught his eye, and then with a subtle nod, Sam went after the angel and demon.

"I'll come with you," he offered.

Neither Laharl nor Anthriel said anything, so Sam tailed them out of Dean's room, closing the door behind him.

"So he's gonna tell them all of the different places that the demons are camped out at, and then what?" Dean inquired as the door shut behind the three of them.

"Then, we wait."

"More waiting," Dean threw his hands up. "Well, that's just fucking wonderful."

"Acting like a six-year-old isn't going to help us find Cas and Kevin any faster," Crowley told the hunter, not even bothering to look at Dean as he spoke. He snapped his fingers, turning all of the lights in the room on, sick of the darkness.

Crowley was distracted, worried – most likely just as much as Dean, though he was much better at hiding it.

_"With Laharl's help, it won't take the angels long to find Cas and Kevin. We're doing all that we can,"_ Sam's voice chimed in his head unexpectedly, starling Crowley somewhat. Sam must have heard his troubled thoughts. Crowley chastised himself inwardly for neglecting to keep his walls up.

_"Yes, well, let's hope that 'all that we can' is enough,"_ Crowley replied dismally.

_"It always has been before,"_ Sam reminded him.

_"We've never faced anything like this before,"_ Crowley countered.

_"This isn't our first apocalypse."_

_"No, but it's certainly our worst."_

Dean turned to Crowley, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Crowley?"

Crowley smacked Dean's hand away. "What?" he asked, annoyed. He felt the tendril of his connection to Sam fade as the hunter got further and further away from him.

"You haven't heard a single word I've said, have you?"

"You were talking?"

Dean gave him a bitch face worthy of his younger brother. "IMing with Sam?"

"Do you even need to ask?

"I'm never going to get used to you being in my brother's head," Dean said with a grimace.

"That makes two of us," Crowley replied.

Dean opened his mouth to say more, but he was cut off by his phone blaring "Shout It Out Loud" in his pocket. Dean pulled it out, quickly checking the Caller ID. "Crap," he muttered before answering the phone and putting it to his ear. "Hey, Charlie, this isn't really a-"

"WHAT THE HELL, DEAN!?" an angry feminine voice cut across Dean. The Winchester winced, pulling away from his cell.

"Charlie, what-"

"The bunker is GONE – it's a pile of smoking rubble! _Baby_ is flipped over in a ditch! I AM STANDING IN A PILE OF DEAD ANGELS! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD YOU ASSHAT _I THOUGHT YOU WERE ALL DEAD-"_

"Enough!" Dean yelled over Charlie's rant. "I'm sorry, okay? It's been a pretty hectic twenty four hours, and it didn't really cross my mind to make courtesy calls. Sam, Bobby, Crowley and I are all still breathing-"

"What about Cas and Kevin?" she asked sharply. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to prepare himself to deliver the news.

"Dean," Charlie whispered when he didn't immediately respond, and it was only because of Crowley's enhanced hearing that he was able to hear her. "Please don't tell me they're dead. Please."

Dean put a hand to his forehead. "We… it's a long story, but we think they're both alive."

"But?"

Dean sighed heavily, and Crowley could read the stark pain in the hunter's expressive green eyes. "But the demons have them."

Charlie swore loudly. "How?"

"Like I said… long story."

"Fine, tell me a shorter one: where are you?"

"France. I don't know where."

"Bordeaux," Crowley provided, loud enough for Charlie to hear. "Château region, in the west."

"And how exactly did you get there…?"

"Angels pulled us out of the fire, brought us here to one of their hideouts," Dean explained. Charlie was quiet for a moment. "You still there?" Dean asked, brow furrowing.

"Send Crowley to come get me," Charlie said slowly, decisively.

"What does she think I am, your demonic taxi cab?"

Dean promptly ignored Crowley. "Sorry kid, but you're gonna have to sit this one out. Things are heating up – it's just too dangerous. What happened to Cas and Kevin is proof of that much."

"Do you seriously think I care?" Charlie asked, voice thick with emotion. "Dean, I don't… don't you get it? I signed up for 'the life' – for being a perfectly killable recurring character in the Winchester gospel. I'm all in, no matter what. There's no way I'm tapping out now."

"This could be a death sentence, you get that, don't you? Every person that has ever tried to help Sam and I has died, or worse."

Crowley cleared his throat to indicate that he was, in fact, still alive, but all this earned him was an irritated glare from Dean.

"I don't want to burn another body, Charlie," Dean continued, lowering his voice.

"Too. Damn. Bad." Dean blinked in surprise at Charlie's response. "Sorry, Dean, but your manpain isn't going to change my mind. I read the books. I know that you and Sam go through friends more often than you change your socks. I _know_ what I'm getting myself into," she emphasized. "This is me, signing the liability waiver."

"Charlie…" Dean's expression was ripe with confliction.

"It's gonna rain," she said. "Send Crowley now. I don't have an umbrella."

Dean was quiet for a long moment. "Shit," he said eventually. He hung up the phone, and then looked at Crowley.

"Well?" Crowley arched an eyebrow. "Are we adding on another member to our merry band of misfits?"

"You said we use up people until their husks," Dean said abruptly, and his eyes met Crowley's. The hunter almost looked like he was pleading with him. He wanted to be told that it wasn't true. Dean wanted oh so badly for him to be wrong.

"I did," Crowley acknowledged. "But that was before I had more hands on experience with you and Moose."

"And what do you think now?"

Squirrel asking for his opinion? These were strange times indeed. "I think that what you actually do is far worse. You don't use people, so much as you… _collect_ them, really, and you and your brother…" Crowley pinned his tongue between his teeth, weighing his words carefully. "You're dangerous because you make people want to be better than they are. Better, more often than not, leads to braver… and you and I both know where that road inevitably leads."

Dean said nothing.

"People will always be jumping on swords for the two of you. It's part of your charm, and short of completely cutting yourselves off from humanity, there's no way you can stop it – so you may as well take advantage of it." Crowley gave Dean a serious look. "And from what Sam's told me about Charlie, even if I don't go fetch her myself, she'll be on the first flight to France, anyway."

Dean stared at his feet, deliberating. The family resemblance between he and Sam was strong when they were deep in thought.

At length, Dean said, "Go get her," in a monotone.

Crowley was tempted to ask for a 'please', but decided that now was not the time. "Back in a flash," he said, and then promptly vanished from sight.

* * *

In the blink of an eye, Crowley was in Lebanon, standing in the center of the rural road that ran in front of the Men of Letters bunker. The air stank of smoke and stale blood. Dead angels still littered the ground, the skeletal frames of their destroyed wings burnt into the asphalt.

Just a few feet in front of him stood a woman with long, bright red hair and a large duffel bag over her shoulder. Charlie Bradbury, presumably. She stared at the still burning hole in the ground. Through mounds of dirt and ash, he saw the rubble of what used to be the bunker's foyer.

Lailah was wise to use explosive seals; nothing natural, short of a barrage of tactical nuclear missile strikes, could have obliterated the Men of Letters' stronghold as efficiently and thoroughly.

"You lied," Crowley said, catching Charlie's attention. "You do have an umbrella."

Charlie turned to face him. She appeared to be young, but not as young as Sam had made her sound when he'd spoken of her. Her eyes were red and swollen, no doubt from crying. She twirled her red and white umbrella, sniffling slightly.

"You're Crowley," she said, her words quiet and almost lost in the distant rumble of thunder.

"You've seen my stage show," he said with the ghost of a smirk. He slid his hands into the deep pockets of his overcoat. It was cold, for a late August evening. The wind blew harsh and frigid. Though it was the middle of the night in France, the sun was just setting in Kansas.

"We've actually met before, but you were kind of unconscious. I helped Sam undress you post-Eden blow-up. It was scandalous."

"Hmm. Enjoy the view?"

"You have nice calves. Very shapely."

"But I'm no leggy brunette, am I?"

"So the boys _have_ told you about me."

"Oh, yes." His smirk widened. "You know how teenage girls love to gossip."

"I feel so loved." She glanced back at the bunker, falling silent.

"If you want, I can come back later. Give you time to stare forlornly at a smoking pile of rubble."

Charlie turned away from the bunker again, taking a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm just still trying to stop myself from freaking out. I've, uh… I've always kind of been a loner, you know? A drifter. And after Dick Roman happened, and I met the Winchesters, I basically had to burn every contact I had… so Team Free Will's pretty much all I've got. Thinking they were all dead was-"

"Horrible," Crowley filled in. "Yes, I can imagine. But luckily, reality is much less morbid." He offered her his hand. "I can take you to Moose and Squirrel right now, and you can have a tearful reunion that's likely to make me throw up in my mouth."

To his surprise, she laughed, though it was watery. "You are just… so, _so_ Crowley."

"Did you really expect anything less?" he inquired, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes at Charlie.

"I expected… I don't know. The way Sam talked, I thought maybe humanity had made you all cute and cuddly."

"I'll have to have a talk with Moose about over-exaggerating then, won't I?" He may have lost his penchant for sadistic cruelty, but he hadn't gone soft, by any means.

Charlie smiled at him. "Sam really cares about you, you know."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that, though her words did make him feel a kind of inner warmth that only Sam seemed able to create.

"It must be because I'm so bloody cute and cuddly," he responded, his tone thick with sarcasm. He made a 'come here' gesture. "Come on. If we take too long, Squirrel's bound to have a conniption."

Charlie nodded. She folded up her umbrella, and then set it on the ground, apparently intending to leave it behind. She stepped forward, grabbing Crowley's outstretched hand. Focusing his energies, Crowley teleported the two of them back to France.

They reappeared in Dean's room. The hunter sat on the edge of his bed, which still had blood stains on it from Crowley and Laharl's unexpected arrival earlier in the day. Dean's hands were clasped, and his head was bent, almost as if he was praying.

His head jerked up when Crowley cleared his throat. He rose immediately, and for a tense second, Charlie and Dean simply stared at each other. Crowley blinked, and Charlie practically tackled Dean, hugging him tightly. Dean quickly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. His chin rested on the top of her head. His eyes fell closed.

They were both shaking.

"Dean, I'm sorry," she whispered. "About Cas, I mean."

"Cas is gonna be fine," Dean said fiercely. "We're gonna find him and Kevin, and they'll be fine. They will."

Although he spoke these words with conviction, Crowley could still hear doubt lurking in them.

"I want to help," Charlie said, voice muffled by Dean's chest.

"I know."

"Will you let me?"

"Do I really have a choice?"

"Nope."

As Crowley watched the scene in front of him, he felt a strange, deep ache in his chest. Either those that chose to stood by them now would help them turn the tide in their favor… or this attempt at stopping the world from going down in flames would essentially become a mass suicide.

Suddenly feeling as though he was intruding on something private, Crowley departed the room, leaving Dean and Charlie alone.

* * *

Cas could sense that Daityas was beginning to get frustrated with him, even though the demon kept a disturbingly calm demeanor. After another brutal torture session that left his mind in thread-bare strands, Cas's body had once again miraculously healed itself, leaving no evidence that the Crossroads demon had ever laid hands on him.

After that, Cas had been roughly shackled around his ankles and hands, the cuffs so tight that they bit into his skin, and shoved unceremoniously into the cell that took up the other half of the room. Everything reeked of blood now, because although the strength of the angel trials continuously healed him, it did not cleanse his skin of the crimson fluid that had been eeked out of him over the course of the day.

The room he was imprisoned in was freezing. A bone-deep cold sank into him, claiming every inch of his body. His limbs trembled violently. He closed his eyes, trying to distance his thoughts from his current situation, but he could not escape like he had earlier. He shook in the semi-darkness, grateful for the light granted to him by the moon. Otherwise, he would've been trapped in suffocating darkness.

In spite of the oaths he had spat at Daityas earlier, doubt began to creep in along with the aching chill. What if the demon spoke the truth? What if his friends - his family - were truly dead? What if no one was coming for him?

What if he was well and truly... alone?

Feeling weaker than he had ever felt before in the entirety of his near infinite life, Castiel closed his eyes, and he let out a sound that could only be described as a whimper. It was not because of pain, but because of fear, sorrow, and a slew of incredibly human emotions that would have seemed foreign and disconcerting to him just a few months ago. Now, they were a sick kind of comfort, a reminder that his heart was beating and his lungs still drew breath.

If he could only know the truth. As long as there were Winchesters on Earth, there was hope. _He_ would have hope.

For the first time since that day Castiel sat in his borrowed paradise, amidst sunshine and chirping birds that were nothing more than lost daydreams in the mind of an autistic man, he prayed for a sign from his Father. He clasped his hands, though he couldn't remove them from where they were chained at the small of his back, and he bent his head. He whispered prayers, some coherent, some not, all with the same desperation.

When he received nothing but silence in answer, he wept.


	64. Prepare the Masses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hell literally freezes over, and it's really hard to find angel names that don't end in -el.

Dean had lived through a lot of long days in his life. Long weeks. Long months. One very long, very difficult Sam-less year.

Still, the next five days were quite possibly the longest of his life. Time hadn't dragged its feet like this since the first few weeks after Bobby was killed by Dick Roman. He felt directionless, useless, and in spite of the fact that he spent a large majority of his time with either Sam, Bobby, Charlie, Crowley, or Claire, he couldn't shake the feeling of _alone_ that had nestled deep in his chest.

With Laharl's information, Anthriel's scouts were more focused, knowing that Cas and Kevin were most likely being held somewhere in Europe, given that it was the main battleground between Heaven and Hell at the moment. Even with that glimmer of hope, however, it still left Dean with absolutely nothing to do other than stew in his only distinctly dark thoughts for hours at a time.

Dean spent most of his time with Sam and Bobby, who were left with just as little to do as he was. Crowley and his lackey were always zapping around, looking for Cas and Kevin or gathering more intel on Xaphan and Abaddon's army. Claire was occupied with her angel training, and they rarely saw her. Charlie was glued to her laptop, saying she was 'working on something' but refusing to elaborate further.

The days were bad. The nights were far worse. He hadn't slept this little in a long time. He was used to only four to five hours of sleep a night, it came with the life, but he was barely able to shut his eyes, now. The bed's stark emptiness alone was enough to haunt him. He so badly wanted the familiar warm body next to him, the honey scent of Cas's shampoo, the soft and comforting sound of his breathing.

Now, there was nothing but a half-vacant mattress and silence, in a place that would never feel like home. Not like the bunker had. Not like Cas had.

It was when Dean tried to sleep that Cas's absence truly haunted him. He knew what torture looked like, arguably better than anyone, as he had the unique condition of having gone to Hell and crawled out – and still being mostly human in the aftermath.

He'd spent thirty years underneath Alastair's razor, and then ten years behind his own. Dean _knew_ torture, he knew how the old school demons honed their craft. Knowing Abaddon, she would have someone from Lucifer's time working on Cas and Kevin. Someone who had trained alongside Alastair and could break even the strongest of constitutions.

When Dean closed his eyes, he had flashbacks to his own time in Hell, which still often plagued him in his nightmares, only instead of seeing himself on the rack, it was Cas or Kevin. His dreams were hideous visions filled with their screams, a horrible coupling between his deepest fears and most scarring memories. He would wake up in a cold sweat, dominated by feelings of consuming guilt and worry. If he'd just looked out for them, they never would have been taken.

Dean had gone almost three days with less than two hours of sleep before he found a bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on his night stand. It had a sticky note attached to it with a simple 'xo' scrawled on it. He wasn't sure who it was from, but since there was nothing but wine to be found in the chateau, and the neighboring village was much the same, Dean suspected that it had been a quiet gift from Crowley. Remarkable in and of itself, given the demon's repeated abuse of the alcohol that Dean favored.

Three quarters of a bottle later, he was snoring loudly and catching up on sleep, drifting off merely into darkness and not images of his friends being pulled apart by meat hooks and split open by scalpels. He woke the next afternoon with a pounding headache and fat tongue, but as he brushed his teeth with the remainder of the bottle, he decided that Crowley was about as good of a friend as a demon could be.

The next night he found another bottle waiting for him. Shrinks said drinking away your problems wasn't healthy, but at this point, it was the only thing keeping him sane.

If they didn't find Cas and Kevin soon, though, he severely doubted that even alcohol would keep him from going off of the deep end.

* * *

Sam was worried about Dean. Well, he was always worried about Dean – that was kind of the condition of their brotherly relationship. He worried about Dean, Dean worried about him, and sometimes they actually talked about it, but most of the time they tried to communicate their deep abiding concern and love for each other through eyebrow lifts and pursed lips.

Dean was currently sitting on Sam's bed, saying nothing, much like he'd been doing for the past few days. Since the loss of the bunker and Cas and Kevin's kidnapping, his brother had practically turned into a shadow, and a remarkably silent one, at that. When he did speak, he was angry. Sam actually found it comforting when Dean was pissed, because at least he recognized some of his brother in that person. Dean was always a little bit angry.

He wished there was something, anything he could do, but there wasn't. Not until the angels found Cas and Kevin. If that didn't happen soon, he didn't want to imagine the consequences on his two captured friends, the world, or his brother.

Dean was positive that neither Cas nor Kevin had given into whatever was being done to them – because it went without question that they were being tortured. Sam was not as confident. Cas was as old as the Earth and had suffered a lot of pain in his long life, so yes, maybe he could withstand brutal torture. Kevin, prophet or not, was just a kid. He couldn't be expected to handle something like that.

Given that Xaphan and Abaddon's forces had found Laharl when his location and continued existence were such a little known fact, he could only assume that one of them must have broken. He didn't want it to be true, but he could think of no other scenario.

"Dean?" Sam called his brother's name. Dean's eyes were focused on the floor, dark and inscrutable.

Dean grunted something that signified that Sam had been heard.

"Do you want to go for a walk? Stretch your legs?"

"Yeah, so all the angels around here can look at us like we're the way-too-drunk girl at a kegger? No thanks."

He couldn't exactly argue with Dean on that one. It was clear that their presence here was not appreciated by the angels that were in and out of the château, and the ones that were there on a permanent basis to guard the safe house. By and large, they were either ignored entirely, glared at, or in Crowley's case, given a wide berth as the angels gripped their swords.

There were a couple of angels – former faithful followers of Cas's, no doubt – that were friendly to them, but those were few and far between. In general, the Heavenly Host did not seem at all pleased to have them on their side. Given their reputation for being the bearers of bad luck, Sam wasn't really surprised.

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. He'd barely managed to get Dean to do anything over the course of the day. His brother's appetite had even been stunted over the past week, and Sam had only just been able to convince him to eat a sandwich that afternoon.

It's when a dog doesn't eat that you know something's wrong. Really wrong.

"Dean…" Sam began, but he was cut off by the sound of someone knocking on the door to his room. "Come in."

The door opened, revealing an angel. He was tall and thin, and he stood stiffly in the doorway of Sam's room, watching the two brothers warily.

"Anthriel wishes to meet with you in the war room," the angel informed the brothers in a monotone, remaining outside of the room. He seemed to think that he was likely to die just from being in the same room as Sam and Dean.

Whether the Winchesters were really cursed or not was up for debate, but the angels certainly seemed to think that they were.

"Is there any news?" Dean asked, quickly sitting up ramrod straight. His eyes immediately gained a sharp focus to them.

"Yes," the angel replied with a nod of confirmation.

Before Dean could open his mouth to inquire further, the angel vanished. Dean glared at the spot that the angel had previously occupied and muttered a vicious, "Fucking angels."

"Come on, let's go," Sam said, hauling his brother off of the bed so that he was standing on his feet. "Should we get the others?"

"Yeah – I'll track down Bobby and Charlie, you get Crowley and his right hand dick," Dean advised. His older brother made for the door, and then hung a left to head to Bobby's room.

_"_ _Crowley?"_ Sam called out loudly in his mind, hoping vaguely that the demon might be somewhere nearby. When he received no response, Sam sighed, pulling out his phone. He typed out a quick text to Crowley.

_"_ _Get back to the château."_ Sam didn't expect that it would take Crowley long to-

"Booty call, Moose?"

Sam smirked in spite of himself, turning to face Crowley, who had just appeared behind him.

"Something's happening. It looks like Anthriel's scouts might have found Cas and Kevin," Sam explained. "Where's Laharl?"

"Otherwise occupied. You'll have to settle for me." Crowley brushed past Sam, slipping through the door. "Shall we?"

"Coming."

A few minutes later, they were in the war room with Anthriel and the others. He'd thought Claire might be with Anthriel, but the new angel was nowhere in sight. Sam wasn't sure whether to be worried by that or not. Crowley had expressed to him a few days before that he didn't like the idea of Claire spending so much time under Anthriel's not-so-metaphorical wing, worried that the seraph might push Claire too far too early in her training – or that she might find some way to use Claire against them.

Even though they were on the same 'side', their alliance with the Heavenly Host was not a friendly one by any stretch of the imagination.

Sam had admitted that he felt some of the same concern for the human-turned-angel, so the two of them decided to make sure Claire still stuck close to them. In spite of her new species, they wanted her loyalty to lie with them, and not the angels.

Of course, that task had fallen mainly to Crowley. While Claire didn't necessarily dislike Sam and Dean, it was clear that she still partly blamed the two of them for her father's death. Of all of them, she definitely preferred Crowley's company, though it seemed like she and Charlie were warming up to each other fast.

The King had certainly developed a soft spot for Jimmy's daughter. In a moment of surprising honesty from Crowley, the demon had told him that Claire reminded him of his younger sister. Until that moment, Sam hadn't been aware that Crowley had a sister.

"Good, gang's all here," Dean said when Sam and Crowley entered the room. He pointed to a part of the world map that had been circled with red Sharpie. "Is this it?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the location his brother was pointing at. It appeared to be somewhere in Scotland, the country that was currently one of the main battlegrounds for the demons and the angels.

"We believe so, yes," Anthriel answered.

"Believe so?" Bobby echoed. "You mean you don't know?"

"The keep that they've taken, Ackergill Tower, is heavily warded. We are unable to see inside to determine whether Castiel and the prophet are being held there or not."

_"_ _Ackergill Tower?"_ Crowley echoed, his voice sounding surprised in Sam's head. _"That's in Caithness, in the Highlands. Not far from Canisbay, actually."_

_"_ _That's where you were born as a human, wasn't it?"_

_"_ _Born, raised, lived and died there."_

"What makes you so sure that they're in the tower, then?" Sam inquired aloud.

"We've had scouts observing Ackergill Tower for days. It was previously nothing more than an auxiliary safe house for the demons, but traffic has picked up in the past week. Abaddon herself has made two visits there recently, leaving the frontlines in Glasgow."

"Seems a bit thin, wouldn't you say?" Crowley observed.

"It is the most solid evidence we have. Regardless, we are going to have to destroy Ackergill Tower. We don't want the demons to have any form of quarters to fall back to. Tomorrow, we attack."

"Hell yes," Dean pumped his fist in the air. "It's about damn time we do something."

Crowley, on the other hand, didn't seem as pleased. "Are you bloody mad?" he challenged, looking directly at Anthriel. "You want to siege Ackergill when they've got hostages inside? Hostages who decide which side wins this war?"

Sam didn't know when their efforts had started being focused on winning the war rather than stopping it.

"Rescuing Castiel and the prophet is one of our objectives. A team will be sent in while we draw out and engage the enemy outside of the tower."

"What team? The place is decked out in angel warding, isn't it? Who could you even send?" Charlie asked.

Anthriel hadn't been thrilled when she found out that Charlie had been brought to the château without her consent, but the angel had allowed her to stay after Sam had convinced her that Charlie would be of use to them, with her intellect and skill with technology. According to Laharl, Abaddon and Xaphan were still using the NSA listening posts that Crowley had established during his reign. If Hell was in the 21st century, then Heaven needed to be as well.

"I thought that should seem obvious," Anthriel replied stiffly. "The group of you should be perfectly capable of being our insurgent force."

There was a thick silence in the room.

"I repeat," Crowley said, his words clipped and sharp. "Are you. Bloody. MAD?"

"Just wait a minute," Dean said, halting what appeared to be a forthcoming tirade from Crowley. Sam could sense the demon's aggravation. Crowley possessed a mind that was acclimatized to planning and strategy, and he detected that the King felt that Anthriel's plans were dangerous and foolish. "Give us numbers – how many demons are we dealing with?"

"We are not sure at this point the amount of demons within the castle, but given the size, there's probably a significant amount. All you would need to do is dispose of the sigils, and the rest of our forces can get inside – we only require you to deal with the warding, and then while we engage the enemy, you will find Castiel and Kevin Tran."

"Unless of course they notice us breaking down their door with a battering ram and decide to take Cas and Kevin and make a run for it," Charlie pointed out.

"Or kill them," Crowley added. "Or rather, threaten to. If we attack head on, they can use Castiel and Kevin to manipulate us. Arguably, we need them more than they do. They're the perfect leverage."

"We will not negotiate with the demons."

"Will you let them just kill Cas and Kevin?" Sam asked with a hint of incredulity.

_"_ _Not if they ever want to get back to Heaven, they won't,"_ Crowley pointed out over their link.

"No," Anthriel said. "We will deal with that situation should it arise."

" _When_ it arises," Crowley snapped. "The demons aren't as stupid as you seem to think they are. They've got a trump card, a bargaining chip. You can bet your clipped little wings that they're going to take advantage of that."

"We are stronger," the female angel insisted, and Sam could read the subdued rage in her eyes.

"You're not!" Sam exclaimed. "You're racking up casualties by the day! You said yourself that if this keeps going, the Host isn't going to last much longer."

"We must! There is no alternative!"

"There's always an alternative," Dean said, though he seemed reluctant to argue the point. Sam knew that his brother wanted nothing more than to raid Ackergill and take Cas and Kevin by force… but he needed to understand that if they did that, they might lose both of them forever.

"We can do this the smart way," Crowley pressed. "Lure them out, Trojan Horse our way in, _anything_ other than a full frontal assault. That's the worst possible plan."

"The day I take battle strategy advice from a demon will be a cold day in Hell indeed," Anthriel retorted, glaring at Crowley like he was the singular cause of the war that was slowly but surely wiping out her species.

Before Crowley could issue the sharp response no doubt poised on his tongue, two female angels abruptly appeared behind Anthriel, both looking like they were on death's door if the sheer amount of blood stained on their clothing and skin was any indication. The taller of the two gripped the other tightly, steadying her companion, who's leg seemed to be nearly severed in half below the knee.

Anthriel turned, eyes widening at the sight of them. "Hayliel, what is the meaning of this?" Anthriel appeared to be addressing the more coherent of the two.

"Weapons," the angel spat out harshly. "They have new weapons, all of them – I have never seen anything like it." Hayliel fell to her knees, taking the other angel with her. "I tried to heal Anahel, but the wounds… they won't heal. They _don't_ heal."

"Nonsense," Anthriel insisted. She bent down next to her injured sisters. She placed a hand on each of them, her eyes falling closed. Anahel was loose in Hayliel's grip, seemingly unconscious, which was almost unheard of for an angel.

_"_ _Do you have as bad a feeling about this as I do?"_ Sam inquired, glancing at Crowley.

_"_ _Infinitely worse."_

Anthriel was silent for a few moments. Nothing seemed to be happening. _"Can you sense anything?"_

_"_ _She's not healing them. Nothing's happening. The wounds on those angels… there's a darkness about them. It's Hell-stink. Strong Hell-stink."_

Anthriel expression turned to concern, and creases appeared in her forehead. Hayliel stared up at her, her fear evident. "Don't you see? They can't be healed!"

"This isn't possible."

"But it is," Crowley called. Anthriel looked at the demon sharply over her shoulder.

"What do you know of this, demon?"

"That's my question," Dean said, narrowing his eyes at Crowley.

"Forgetful, aren't we?" Crowley asked Dean. "If you'll recall, Kevin found a particularly juicy tidbit on the tablet shortly before our little Eden adventure."

"Wait a minute…" Sam and Dean's eyes met. "Stygian ice," the brothers chorused.

"Shit," Bobby said, apparently recalling the conversation.

"Stygian ice?" Charlie repeated. "Stygian as in Styx? As in the river in Hell?"

"That's right," Crowley said. "Which means that Hell has, coincidentally, frozen over."

"Explain, demon. _Now_ ," Anthriel ordered. Sam heard a mental mutter from Crowley, something about angels having no manners.

"The angel tablet is a veritable font of interesting information, not the least of which is a section pertaining to the fact that Stygian ice can be used as a weapon – the damage it does can't be healed by magic, Grace, anything other than time. Far more dangerous than an angel blade, and capable of killing damn near anything short of an archangel."

_"Why the hell would Abaddon do this? Stygian ice is one of the only things that can kill her,"_ Sam said to Crowley, perplexed.

_"I think this proves to us who's really running things Downstairs. Xaphan doesn't care if Abaddon's pert ass gets skewered. He only wants the legions of Hell at his command. Easy to guess who's the bottom in that relationship."_

_"I guess you're right... but how did they find out...?"_

_"Do you even need to ask, Moose?"_

Dean and Sam were still looking at each other. Before, they could've hoped, but now… if Hell had found out about the properties of Stygian ice, that could only mean one thing, couldn't it?

"Kevin broke," Dean whispered, horrified.

"Apparently so," Crowley said.

The demon appeared completely collected on the outside, but over their link Sam could sense a deep, pulsing worry coming from Crowley. This was a game changer. One of the biggest advantages that the angels had over the demons were their superior weapons. All of the angels were equipped with angel blades, while only some of the demons possessed them.

And if Kevin had snapped… did that mean that Hell knew about the prophecy that had terrified Crowley so much?

The thought must have slipped over to Crowley, because he felt the demon's fear increase tenfold.

_"_ _No,"_ Crowley insisted. _"When I went into Kevin's room before the bunker went Pearl Harbor on us, his notes were all gone. Lailah must have taken them. If Kevin wrote down the bit about the Stygian ice, they could've found out that way just as easily."_

_"_ _Are you being an optimist, or do you actually think that?"_

_"_ _I have to think that. Otherwise, it's already too late."_

"Damn it," Dean swore, turning away from them and putting hands on either side of his head, seemingly trying to calm himself. "Goddamnit."

"Don't give up hope just yet, Squirrel," Crowley said. "You ever step into the cutest little prophet's room, by any chance? Bloody mess in there. Enough notes to sink a battleship. Lailah nicked his notes when she took him – theoretically…"

"Kevin could still be holding it together," Bobby filled in.

"We're due for a lucky streak sometime, right?" Charlie inquired.

"There is nothing we can do for these injuries?" Anthriel asked, gesturing almost helplessly at Hayliel and Anahel.

"Kevin said the wounds can't be healed. If they're somewhere non-vital, they'll heal slowly overtime. Otherwise…" Sam frowned, letting Anthriel's imagination finish his sentence.

"They're going to need actual medical attention. I recommend bringing them to a hospital, as I highly doubt that any of you feather brains know your way around a needle and sutures."

"A human hospital?" Hayliel choked out. "They can't help us!"

"On the contrary, darling, they're the only ones who _can_ help you."

"Can you teleport on your own, or do you require assistance?" Anthriel asked, surprising Sam by setting her hand on the other angel's shoulder. The only time that the seraph didn't seem hard as stone was when it came to the safety of the angels under her command.

"I can manage," Hayliel said. "The humans… they'll help us?"

"They will," Sam assured her in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "You don't even have to say anything. As soon as the people at the hospital see that you're hurt, they'll help you."

"Go, Hayliel. I don't think she has much time," Anthriel said, nodding at Anahel.

Hayliel took a deep breath. A second later, she was gone. Anthriel turned slowly, her expression grave.

"Frosty enough for you?" Crowley asked, eyes drilling into Anthriel. The challenge in his words was evident.

"This has only shown me that we must fight with more force than ever before. We must be merciless and constant. Tomorrow at dawn, we will strike hard and fast, regardless of the consequences. The demons have gained the upper hand – we cannot waste any more time."

"It's sounding like we're all going to get sliced and diced if we follow your plan," Dean said. "We need to-"

"This is not a democracy," Anthriel cut across him. "We attack tomorrow, with or without you. I must go to Glasgow." She grimaced, putting a hand to her ear. "My brothers and sisters are screaming. I fear the worst."

In a blink, Anthriel vanished.

"We're not actually goin' along with this, are we?" Bobby asked just seconds after Anthriel departed, echoing Sam's own thoughts.

"Something tells me we're not going to be able to convince her to change her mind," Charlie said.

"She's scared," Crowley said. "A house cat backed into a corner, just swiping around blindly. We won't be able to reason with her."

"Going in heavy with these bastards ain't gonna help anything. If they didn't have Cas and Kevin, it'd be a different story, but with how things are…" Dean shook his head. "We can't let the angels do this."

"How are we supposed to stop them, though?" Sam asked. No one seemed to have any answers. Crowley's eyes turned to his watch, seemingly distracted.

"You got somewhere to be, Crowley?" Dean gave Crowley a withering look.

"Sun rises about six this time of year, yeah?" Crowley looked up. "That gives us eight hours."

"Eight hours to do what?" Sam wasn't sure if the smirk on Crowley's face was reassuring or concerning.

"To get our little lost sheep out of Ackergill before the angels get there," Crowley elaborated, glancing around at the others. "What say we take matters into our own hands?"


	65. Cry Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Team Free Will has fun storming the castle.

"Oh, Castiel... I have a surprise for you."

Rough hands pulled him up. Terror clenched at his heart, making it feel like there was a vice around the beating muscle that gave his painfully mortal body life. His world faded in and out of the black, fantastic colors dancing under eyelids that were mercifully closed.

He felt a phantom pain in most of his body as he was spread out on the steel table. He knew what was to come. He'd long since lost track of the passage of time, but he assumed it had been a week. He had been put on this table seven times. Strapped down around the wrists and ankles. The scent of blood in his nostrils, the erratic beat of his heart, Daityas's quiet humming, it was all the same as before.

Except for the expression on Daityas's face. This time, the Crossroads demon was smiling. Perhaps it was just his meat suit, but all of his expressions came across as so stunningly innocent, in spite of the evil monster hiding underneath the human skin. Daityas looked like a child who had just found a four leaf clover.

In his hand was a strange weapon Castiel had never seen before. It was a short sword, and the blade was a strange indigo kind of color. The hilt was black as night. Even without his angelic senses, he could detect the evil on the weapon that hovered just a few inches over his chest.

"This will make our sessions far more productive, I think," Daityas said. "You can only last so long, Castiel. And now I have something that even the power of Heaven will not be able to purge from you. This blade was not only made in Hell, but _of_ Hell, and it will be the tool that I use to mold you into something so much greater."

"It won't…" Speaking had become difficult, each word like sandpaper against his throat that had been screamed hoarse days ago. "Make… any difference."

"Oh, but I think it will." Suddenly there was a hand at his neck, squeezing tightly, cutting off his air. "You have made the repeated mistake of underestimating my talents. I am the one who created the King of Hell himself, it was _I_ who pulled apart his pitiable mortal shell and released the beautiful beast underneath. If you think that one simple human can withstand me..." Daityas squeezed tighter. Black dots danced in his vision.

Castiel tried to speak, but no words could escape. Daityas lowered the blade to his stomach, just barely grazing it across his abdominals. Castiel shuddered when it touched him.

"I'll have to be a bit more careful with you, now... but it's a very worthy trade, I think."

Daityas slashed the blade across his middle, dropping the hand that was suffocating Cas so that he could hear him scream.

Oh, this was worse.

This was much, much worse.

* * *

It was raining.

Icy droplets pelted Crowley's exposed skin, and in the distance, he heard the muffled roar of thunder. Lightning stroked across the sky, illuminating the faces of those around him for a split second each time it flashed. The only other glow came from the distant figure of Ackergill Tower, which stood like a lone sentinel in the expansive coastal fields, watching over land and sea alike.

The charged, damp air was heavy with the scent of grass, rain, and the salty aroma of the sea. It was strange being here, so close to where he'd lived and died as a human. Some things had changed over the past few centuries, but still, some things had and would continue to remain the same. It filled him with a sense of nostalgia and melancholy that he hadn't expected.

Crowley had more important things to worry about tonight, however. They had a job to do, after all.

"You don't have to stay, Claire," Crowley said to the new angel, who was to his immediate left. Charlie flanked his other side. "Anthriel will wonder where you are."

"I don't see her coming back to the château until morning," Claire responded, her voice almost lost in the sound of the storm. "Things in Glasgow are really bad. The demons are winning. She's got her hands full." She tugged the hood of her jacket down further over her eyes. "Plus, you've been so worried about Anthriel getting to me, I figured I might as well prove which side I'm on. I don't trust the angels."

Lightning struck, causing a deep and resonating rumble of thunder. "Are you saying you trust us?" Crowley asked.

"Hell no. But that doesn't mean you're not the lesser of two evils." Claire glanced at Charlie. "Well? What's the word?"

"Working on it," Charlie replied distractedly. Charlie was currently sitting cross-legged on the wet ground with her lap top balanced on her knees, protected from the rain thanks to a simple spell Crowley had placed on her. She and her electronics needed to stay dry if things were to be successful tonight. Charlie had perhaps been the most enthusiastic when he'd announced they were going to have to go rogue in order to rescue Cas and Kevin.

In her own words, this was kind of her thing.

"It's getting closer," Charlie said. "Any minute, now."

"What's taking so long?" Crowley inquired, checking his watch. 2:56 am. About three hours left until the angels pulled a full blitzkrieg on the place. Not much time, but enough, if things didn't go catastrophically wrong. Then again, the Winchesters were with them, and everything they did tended to end in mayhem.

They were prepared in any case. Prepared as they could be with just a few hours' preparation, that is.

"High winds mess with the navigation. We couldn't have picked a worse night for this. Gotta love that infectious Winchester bad luck," Charlie responded, tapping away furiously. "You got everything, right?"

Crowley reached into his pockets, pulling out the pipe bombs that Charlie had requested, making sure to hold them in Charlie's dry sphere so that the small bombs wouldn't get soaked.

"Impact charges, right?"

"I followed your shopping list to the letter, cooked them up just as ordered."

"You'll make a great little house wife someday, Crowley. I might platonic marry you just for the privilege of it."

"If we live through tonight, I'll consider it. Though you're already the Queen, from what I understand."

Claire turned. "I think I see them." She pointed in the distance. Crowley narrowed his eyes. He could see two dark shapes approaching fast. A low whine could be heard. A second later, they zoomed over head. They were out of sight for a few minutes before they turned, soaring back towards them as they lost altitude and their speed decreased.

Two small military drones hovered just a few feet above Crowley's head. Charlie grinned at the two machines, and she and Claire high-fived. "Score one for the Queen," she said. "Am I good, or am I good?"

"You're brilliant," Crowley assured her. "Pray tell, what country did you repurpose these marvels of the twenty-first century from?"

"The US," Charlie said. "They've got thousands of UAVs. They probably won't even notice these two disappearing for a few hours. They're just surveillance drones, but they're still armed."

"Why not just drop the bombs already in them?" Claire asked.

"Because the missiles they're armed with would cause a lot of damage and attract a lot more attention than we need. There's a town only a few miles from here. I don't want anyone to get hurt, or for the cops to show up and get in the way of things. We just need a distraction."

The two drones' engines whirred as they neared the ground and landed in front of Charlie. "It's going to take me a second to defuse their payloads. Check in with the others."

"Giving commands now, are we?"

Charlie said nothing, still intent on her work with the drones, but she did smirk in response. She handed him the walkie-talkie they had, necessary due to the fact that Sam was too far away for Crowley to communicate over their link.

"Come in, Moose. This is the King. Do you copy? Over."

* * *

"Seriously, Crowley?" Sam asked, making sure to keep his voice low to avoid catching the ears of the demons they were watching. He and Dean were flat on their stomachs in the woods to the east of the tower. All they could hear was the growl of thunder and the sound of the rain drops pelting the canopy above their heads.

"You're no fun. What are you lot seeing?" Crowley's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie.

"Six guards on the outside, from what we can see."

"Positions?"

"Three on the roof of the tower, two to the east and west of the front door, and then one guarding the cliffs around back. If you draw the ones by the gate away, we can probably handle the rest."

"We need to do something about the blighters up top. High eyes are dangerous eyes."

Dean dropped his binoculars on the ground, snatching the walkie-talkie from Sam. " _We_ is gonna have to be _you_ ," he said. "Can you swing it?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find some way to manage," Crowley responded.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard boots crunching against the forest floor, but a quick glance to his left informed them that it was just Bobby returning from scouting the nearby hills. Dean lifted a hand in greeting, and Sam took the walkie-talkie back from his brother.

"How much time?" Sam said into the two way radio.

"Soon. Be ready. Is our dear Robert back yet?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. He looked to Bobby. "Well?"

"Just one sentry in the hills," the older hunter provided.

"Do something about him, would you?" Crowley requested.

"On it."

"Make sure to hide his body," Crowley said.

"The hell am I supposed to hide him at? There's no cover over there."

"Throw him in the sea. God knows worse has been tossed in it over the years. It was one enormous toilet in my time," Crowley responded.

"Alright, I'll go take care of him," Bobby said, and he was off again.

"We're almost ready here – when we move, you move, understand? We can't waste any more time," Crowley said.

"We're ready," Sam affirmed. "The back, then?"

"Yeah. And for the love of Hell, watch yourselves on the cliffs. The last thing I need tonight is to have to peel you two off of the rocks."

"Your concern's touching. Just tell us when."

"Give us a moment."

The channel went silent. Sam looked at his brother, who was holding the binoculars to his eyes. He didn't need to ask to know that he was looking at the barred window on the top floor of the tower. A deep frown tugged at Dean's lips, making him look old beyond his years.

"This is it," Sam said. "We're going to get them out of there, Dean."

"Yeah," was his brother's only response.

He patted Dean on the back, unsure of what else he could say to reassure him. They both knew that this could go horribly south. They'd never taken on a force of demons this large before. They expected the forces here to be much thicker than the ones that Dean and Cas encountered at the mansion in Boston. Kevin and Cas were high priority, and the demons were bound to have them guarded thoroughly.

They might not make it out of this alive, but if they didn't save Kevin and Cas, no one was going to be alive much longer, judging by Crowley's innate terror of the information on the angel tablet.

Waves crashed against the cliffs that Ackergill Tower was perched on, lightning flashed, and the torrential downpour continued. Sam could feel himself sinking into the mud. Still keeping his head low, he sat up, checking to make sure he had everything he needed – Ruby's knife, holy water, the last of their emergency supply of holy oil, and three demon bombs.

Crowley had rushed around the world, gathering the ingredients, and Dean thankfully recalled how to make them from when he and Castiel had helped Kevin craft them earlier in the summer. He, Bobby, and Dean had made a decent amount – not nearly enough to take on the amount of demons that were within the tower, but with time of the essence, they really had no choice.

Plus, if all went as planned, they wouldn't need a large majority of their weapons.

But that was a big _if._

Soon enough, Sam saw two fast-moving objects race through the sky above, dark blurs barely discernible against the pitch black cloud cover. The sound of several explosions fought with the sound of thunder. The demons to the left and right of the main gate glanced at each other. After a moment, they both disappeared to seek out the source of the disruption.

It was time.

* * *

The demon standing guard on the south most corner of Ackergill Tower had seen the odd flying shapes and had heard the explosions. He did not, however, notice the storm of red smoke spiraling towards him like a bat out of literal Hell.

His conscience and essence were utterly possessed and repressed in due course; a petty demon was no match for a King, after all.

Crowley cracked his neck and wrung out of his hands, getting used to the feel of the demon's tall and gangly meat suit, the soul of which seemed to have departed long ago. Ugh. He never liked dead vessels, but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers.

He pulled the blade that was sheathed at the demon's side out, examining it with narrowed eyes. It had a purplish-blue hue, and it radiated an aura that told him that the material most certainly came from Hell. How Xaphan and Abaddon had managed to actually freeze over the Styx, he had no idea, but he certainly planned on finding out.

The blade felt powerful in his grip, far more powerful than the angel blade he'd left back with his preferred meat suit. Of course, the weapon he currently held radiated a consuming and sucking darkness, rather than the warm celestial aura of Heaven. Naturally, he liked the feel of the Stygian blade better.

Slowly, Crowley turned. There were two other demons on the top of the tower, looking over the crenels with matching expressions of disinterest. This wouldn't be difficult.

He crept towards the nearer of the two, taking care to keep his feet silent. Once he was behind him, he placed his hand over the other demon's mouth and quickly sliced open his throat, lowering his body to the ground so there wouldn't be any noise at all. As soon as his dying throes and groans had dissipated, he removed his now blood-soaked hand. His presence still hadn't been detected by the other one.

With accuracy, he threw the Stygian blade, and it sank into the demon's back, aimed so that it would spear his heart. He collapsed to the ground, twitched, and then followed the path of his compatriot. Crowley made his way towards him, removed the blade, and then cleaned it of blood.

Crowley sensed Sam, now, meaning that the Winchesters were nearing Ackergill.

 _"Roof is clear,"_ he chimed to Sam. _"Heading down to the gate room."_

 _"Be careful,"_ Sam replied, and he could feel the concern in the hunter's unspoken words.

_"I always am, Moose."_

Crowley headed for the trap door that led into the castle proper, lifting it up and quickly dropping through, forgoing the rope ladder entirely. He needed to move quickly. Charlie's distraction would only last so long. Crowley glanced around him; he seemed to be in some kind of armory. Angel blades were littered around like candy, disposed of now that Hell had superior weaponry.

Crowley exited the room, making his way to a spiral stairwell that was the quickest way down from the tower. Charlie had easily been able to get the blueprints for the castle, as it had once been a tourist destination before it had been bought out by a private corporation, so he had made sure to familiarize himself with the many twists and turns of the centuries old keep.

He took the steps two and three at a time, no longer worried about stealth. After all, he had the perfect disguise. Soon enough he was navigating the long stone corridors of the first floor. He occasionally passed other demons, but he kept his eyes to the ground and made no attempt to interact with them. If they looked closely at him, they would no doubt see that he was a much stronger demon than the original owner of his meat suit. He didn't want to give anyone an invitation to do so.

However, when he rounded one corridor, he was forced to stop, because he recognized the person he nearly ran into.

_Lailah?_

* * *

Not getting thrown off of the cliffs and into the vicious, waiting sea was turning out to be more of a problem than Dean originally thought it would be. Harsh wind blew at Dean and Sam, constantly pushing them towards the precarious cliff edge, stinging their cheeks, and basically blinding his younger brother by pushing his hair into his eyes repeatedly.

"This is why it pays to cut your hair more than once a decade," Dean hissed out as they crept low along the back of the castle, careful to crouch down to the ground whenever they passed a window.

"Seriously? You're picking _now_ to complain about my hair?" Sam whispered. He pointed ahead of them. "Look." Through the mire of wind and rain, he saw the lone guard watching over the cliffs, standing right by the window that they planned to enter through. It led to nothing other than an empty feed store room, according to the blueprints, so that was their best chance of getting into the keep unseen.

Dean drew his angel blade. "Let's light this candle."

"He's going to see us before we get to him. He could scream – someone might hear him."

"Dude, your tongue's practically in my ear and I can barely hear you over this," Dean gestured at the raging storm that plastered their clothes and hair to their skin. "I think we'll be okay."

"I hope for all our sakes that you're right. If we raise the alarm before Crowley even opens the gate, this is going to turn into a bloodbath."

"Nice optimism on you, Sammy." Dean crept along the wall, battling the wind, his younger brother just a few inches behind him guarding his back. They were going to be seen soon, it was inevitable, but he wanted to stave that off as long as possible.

Demon senses were sharper than human senses, however, and the demon detected their presence when they were still about ten feet away from him. He turned, eyes widening.

"Winchesters!" he called out, but luckily, his voice was lost to the wind and thunder. He drew a strange purplish blue sword that was about the length of Dean's forearm. He could only assume that it was a Stygian blade. "You made a big mistake, coming here."

" _You_ made a big mistake taking our friends, you son of a bitch," Dean growled out, his voice coming out surprisingly feral.

He raced towards the demon, his feet slipping on the wet grass. Dean made to drive the angel blade into the demon's sternum, but he dodged neatly, sending Dean barreling past him. Dean managed to whirl around in time to see the demon grabbing Sam by throat and slamming him up against the wall of the tower. The demon guard grabbed Sam's wrist and twisted, forcing him to drop Ruby's knife.

Dean moved to stab the demon in the back with his angel blade, but the guard spun around in an instant so that he held Sam in front of him. Dean was barely able to stop himself from impaling his brother through the chest. He halted, unable to do anything, as the demon had the Stygian blade positioned at Sam's throat. Damn. Abaddon apparently had left her best to guard Ackergill. This wasn't the typical stunt demon they could dispatch without much effort. This one was smart.

"One move, and I slit baby brother's throat," the demon growled. "The boss is gonna be real excited to see the two of you. We can finally complete the whole set. Drop the blade."

Dean didn't move. The demon dug in the tip of the Stygian blade, and Sam let out a hiss of pain. Sam's skin let off an acrid black smoke where the weapon bit into him.

"Drop the blade!" he repeated, louder and more forcefully.

Dean obeyed, carefully lowering the angel blade to the ground, his eyes not leaving Sam's the entire time. He had a hard time discerning the emotion in his eyes, but he managed to receive the silent message Sam was trying to get across to him: _get ready._

Sam twisted, grabbing the demon by the front of his shirt and throwing them both to the ground, hard. The demon cursed, and he pulled the Stygian blade in his hand, but luckily it had jostled from its position on Sam's neck and only managed to graze the bottom of his chin. Sam wrestled with the demon, rolling far too close to the cliff face for Dean's comfort. One wrong move, and they would both be heading down to the pointed rocks and merciless sea below.

Dean ducked, scrambling in the wet grass for his angel blade. He wrapped his hand around the hilt just as Sam grabbed the demon by the collar and threw him with all of his strength towards the cliff. It would have been a perfect way to take out the demon, at least temporarily, if he hadn't had a completely death grip on Sam's arm. The demon guard went over the side of the cliff.

So did Sam.

"SAMMY!" Dean screamed, heart pounding wildly in his chest. No. No. _No._ He lunged for the large, scrabbling hand that still gripped the ledge. He dropped his angel blade again, grabbing Sam's wrist with both hands. He peered over the side of the cliff. Sam looked terrified, and he could see that the demon was dangling from his ankle, almost doubling his weight.

Dean dug in his heels, pulling at Sam with all of the strength he had in him. His boots sank into the mud. Sam flailed his leg like a maniac, but he couldn't shake the demon loose. Dean struggled, trying to pull Sam up, but he was slipping in the wet earth, getting dragged closer to the edge rather than pulling his brother up.

Sam's hands were locked on his wrists, but his fingers were slipping against his soaked skin, just as Dean's were having trouble finding purchase on his.

"Come on, Sam!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, struggling to be heard over a sudden roar of thunder.

"I can't hold on!"

"Yes you can!" Dean yelled even as he lost his footing due to a sharp gust of wind and tumbled to the ground, almost losing all grip of his younger brother in the process. No. He just had to hold on. He couldn't let go. We _wouldn't_ let go.

But they both knew that they were both going to tumble over into the abyss if one of them didn't let go.

Dean held on. He didn't care.

Sam's eyes pleaded with him. "Dean. Don't."

"I can pull you up!"

"I'm sorry."

Sam let go of him. Dean held on anyway, even as his fingers lost more and more of his brother. He was gripping his wrist, then his hands, and then he hooked onto the very tips of his fingers.

And then Sam slipped away.


	66. Fury of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam doesn't die a horrible, painful death, and Abaddon gets a new pair of shoes.

"What are you staring at?"

It was a good question. Crowley was staring at Lailah for several reasons. One, because he was fantasizing about the many ways he could creatively murder the conniving, formerly angelic bitch. Also, he was staring because he found it surprising that said former angel was hanging out in a nest of demons, despite her defection. But after a quick examination of Lailah on the higher planes, he was staring for a completely different reason.

Lailah wasn't Lailah, not anymore. No, there was the dark, pulsing smoke form of a demon within her, and he saw the face of a damned soul when he looked at her with narrowed eyes. An incredibly powerful one. It took him only a moment to realize who exactly he was looking at.

"Nothing... my Queen," he answered at length, the words tasting like filth on his tongue. He was trying to keep calm and trying to mask his own essence as best he could. There was still a low level demon inside this meat suit that he was currently smothering, so he tried to hide his own tell-tale red smoke that would give him away in a heartbeat.

Well, a few things added up now. Abaddon could certainly accomplish more in an angelic vessel than a typical meat suit. It would certainly allow her to take in more souls from the Pit and utilize their power. He'd wondered how Abaddon and Xaphan had managed to freeze Hell... with the strength of all of the souls of the damned along with the help of a fallen angel, he supposed it was doable.

The whore was smart, he'd give her that much. But not nearly as smart as Crowley was, and that would be her downfall if he had any say in the matter.

Abaddon watched him for a few seconds longer than he was comfortable with, but after she seemed to decide he wasn't a threat, she pushed past him, heading back the way he had come. When she was out of earshot, he let out a sigh of relief. That could've gone very badly indeed.

He continued along his way, heading out of the corridor and into the main entrance hall of Ackergill. Several demons wandered about, but none paid him any heed. There was a staircase off to the side of the main gate that led to the gate control on the second floor. Just as his foot touched the bottom step, a flood of terror hit him, strong and pure and _human_ , nearly knocking him off his feet.

Sam.

_"What's gone wrong?"_ Crowley asked immediately, grateful that Sam was close enough for him to sense.

_"HELP."_

_"I can't teleport, Abaddon's warded the place against it. I'm trapped in here."_

_"Oh my God. Oh my God."_ Fear swallowed him, and he was forced to duck behind the staircase and rest against the wall, his legs shaking beneath him as Sam's emotions overwhelmed him.

_"For the love of Hell, what's happening!?"_

_"Going to die. Never mind. I'm sorry. You're a good person, Crowley. Save Cas and Kevin. Don't let Dean drink himself to death."_

A brief vision flashed in his mind's eye; Dean's distressed face, the muffled sound of his screaming. Hands slipping against slick skin and the crash of waves against rock below.

_"Don't you dare say goodbye to me."_

_"I can't hold on."_

He had to get to Sam. But how? Even if he smoked out and headed full throttle towards the youngest Winchester, there was no way he would make it in time. He could feasibly heal Sam if he fell, but it was unlikely that Sam would be able to survive long enough for him to do so. Once his soul ascended to Heaven, it would be lost.

He wasn't about to lose Sam.

_"You can die when I bloody well give you permission to!"_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"SAM!"_

He felt the hunter falling as if he himself was; felt the rush of wind, the air leave his lungs, the gripping talons of fear as he faced what was sure to be his death-

And then. Nothing. Not death, because Crowley sure would have felt as though someone had carved a segment out of his chest with a rusty box cutter. No, it was a brief nothingness, and then the blissful sensation of ground under his feet. He sagged against the wall, almost wanting to sob in relief.

Something had saved Sam.

* * *

"CROWLEY!" he screamed the demon's name like a desperate prayer. Surely he could save Sam. God, why did he have to fall? Why was it always _falling_ , lately? "CROWLEY, GODDAMNIT, SAVE HIM!" he bellowed at the sky, not caring if anyone heard him. He didn't give a damn, as long as somebody saved his brother.

He couldn't look at the rocks or the sea below, afraid that he would see a broken reminder of his brother amidst the waves.

"God, Sammy... no. No no no no." Dean shook his head, hands digging into his scalp. "Damn it, no. Not you too."

"Dean?"

He practically jumped about a foot in the air at the sound of Sam's voice behind him. He was scrambling up and out of the mud and on his feet in a second, turning. Sam stood there, drenched but unharmed and utterly alive, much to his confused delight. More confusing still was Claire's presence at his side, her small hand wrapped around his wrist.

"How the hell...?"

"I just – I think he prayed, or something," Claire explained, looking just as befuddled as Dean felt. Her long blonde hair hung in wet strands around her face, and her mascara was smeared. "I knew something was wrong. I... it just kind of happened."

"Well, I'm glad it just kind of happened." He pulled Sam into a bear hug, his heartbeat still returning to normal. "You let go. You _bitch_ , I can't believe you let go."

"I wasn't going to let you die with me."

Dean slapped Sam hard on the back of the head, then released him. "I'm gonna kick your ass for that later." He then dragged Claire into a nonconsensual hug that the teenager didn't seem pleased to be on the receiving end of. "Thank you, Claire."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. For big bad hunters, it's pretty sad that you guys can't handle one little demon."

"And the gratefulness, it went away." Dean mussed her hair. "Get back to Charlie."

Claire closed her eyes. It took her several moments and an irritated eyebrow twitch, but soon the teen-turned-angel was gone again, leaving Dean alone with his brother.

"Come on. We're running behind. Can we get inside without you dying?" Dean shot his brother a look, trying to play off how visibly shaken he was by how close he came to losing Sam again.

The two brothers headed for the window they planned to enter through. Dean picked up his angel blade and bashed the hilt through the window, shattering it. He knocked the lingering shards out of the window frame and climbed through. The slick window sill was not conducive to a careful entrance, and he lost his footing, taking a headfirst dive into a pile of hay below with a good amount of swearing. Sam's entrance was more graceful, dropping down next to Dean without issue.

"Smooth."

"Shut up." Dean got to his feet. "Okay. This is where we split up."

"Yeah."

"For the love of whatever higher being that doesn't hate us, don't get killed. You only get to scare the shit out of me once a day," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "I'll be fine. Good luck. Hopefully we'll have the way clear for you once you've got Cas."

"Fingers crossed."

Sam headed out of the feed storage, leaving Dean alone as a puddle of rain water formed around his feet. Taking a deep breath, he headed down the opposite corridor.

* * *

Crowley killed the guard who manned the gate control without a single sound, stabbing his angel blade through the back of his head so that the tip poked out of his mouth. He fell to the ground, his corpse leaking blood fast. Crowley's instinct was to back away so as to not get it on his shoes, but then remembered that he was in a borrowed meat suit and therefore didn't need to care.

He grabbed the winch, wheeling it to the right. The gears of the gate grinded as it lifted, letting the storm spill inside Ackergill's entrance hall. He heard the confused shouts coming from the demons below, but disregarded them. It was to be expected. This operation couldn't be completely stealthy. As soon as the gate was fully up, Crowley abandoned his stolen meat suit, spiraling through the air like a vortex of red smoke.

He could move fast, like this, though his vision was more fragmented and his senses were limited. It was child's play to find his way back to his usual vessel, as it projected an aura similar to his own after having been his almost constant meat suit for decades.

In a few moments, he was back in his favored body, gasping air back into his lungs and getting used to being only 5' 8" again.

"Anyone dead yet?" Charlie asked from beside him.

"Close." Crowley sat up. "Everything sunshine and rainbows with you ladies?"

"I saved your boyfriend," Claire informed him. "Charlie's distracting the demons, still."

"Good. Bobby should have the warding dealt with soon enough, and you two can join in the fun."

"We know. Now get going. It's time to save our damsels in distress," Charlie said, pulling him to his feet.

"Let's hope Rapunzel throws down her hair, hmm? Ta-ta for now."

He vanished, reappearing in front of the gate. Bobby stood there, three dead demons piled around his feet. Blood was splattered on his vest, but he was uninjured. He gave Crowley a withering look as lightning struck hard nearby. He thought he heard the sound of a tree cracking apart.

"Thanks for the backup," Bobby grouched.

"I was laboring under the misconception that you would know to bloody _wait_."

"Well excuse me for not wanting to wait for you to show up to the party, princess."

"Are you saying you want to see me in a dress?"

"Ain't you a damn comedian. Are we getting this show on the road, or what?"

"I'd say so, yes. Also, a word of caution: Abaddon's in house. And in Lailah."

"She's possessing her?"

"Oh yes."

"Huh. Karma's a bitch." Bobby adjusted his cap. "We talked about this. We keep the plan the same." Bobby bent down, picking up the discarded Stygian blade of a nearby demon. "We stick her with this, she goes poof, right?"

Crowley grabbed one as well, wanting to be properly armed if he ran into Abaddon again. "Yes, or so the God rock says. Let's hope Metatron wasn't taking any artistic license when he was copying it down." Crowley entered Ackergill, Bobby following at his heels. "Find the warding. We're going to need a full-throttle angel for this delightful kamikaze mission."

"Any idea where it is?"

"Not the foggiest. Best of luck." Crowley gave Bobby a tight smile. "Get the warding that blocks teleporting as well, would you? Bit of a nuisance, really."

The hunter rolled his eyes and went down a nearby corridor that he was fairly sure led to what used to be the servants' quarters in the days where Ackergill Tower had been occupied by humans, rather than demons. Crowley made his way up the gate control, promptly shutting the gate. They'd still managed to avoid attracting a massive force of demons, and if they could continue to stay under the radar-

_"Shit shit shit shit shit."_

Crowley sighed. _"Problem?"_

_"Coming. Lots of them. With me."_

_"Define lots."_

_"A FUCKING LOT, CROWLEY!"_

He heard thundering footsteps and shouts coming from a nearby hall. He quickly made his way down the stairs and back into the entrance hall, only to find Sam racing in with no less than nine demons at his heels. Crowley flicked his wrist, and an invisible force hit the demons, all sending them careening off course and crashing into the wall.

"You didn't tell me you were bringing guests over, Moose." He drew both his angel blade and the Stygian blade he'd taken. Heaven in one hand, Hell in the other. Fitting, he supposed. "Hello, all. I don't know if you've heard the news, but this little hidey hole of yours is getting repossessed. By me. Right now. You have, let's see-" He checked his watch. "-the next thirty seconds to get out before I'm forced to get… nasty."

Sam skidded to a halt at his side, turning to face the demons with Ruby's knife held out in front of him.

"Really?" was all he said to the moose.

"Don't even start with me right now."

"One Winchester and a disgraced former King does not a fighting force make," one of the lead demons said. "Give them a taste of the new regime, boys."

The band of demons rushed at them, blades held out – the blades that could kill him in one fell swoop, the blades that could rip open Sam's skin and taint it so much that even healing straight from the hands of the King of Hell could not save him. And it was that thought that drove him forward, his lips curling into an unintentional snarl. The thought that any one of the demons could be the death of Sam.

In one swift movement, two of the demons were on the ground, an angel blade in one of their chests and a Stygian blade in the other. Orange light pulsed inches away from his hands, and he could feel their essence spark, burn, and then fizzle out into nothingness.

New regime? Please.

Sam was a machine, as per usual. Slashing, spinning, dodging each strike that would have been fatal to a slower individual. It was the demon in him, no doubt, that found Sam beautiful like this. But how couldn't he, really? Sam was like a god when he spilled blood, all chiseled muscle, flying hair, and gray eyes that mirrored the raging storm outside. He was an Adonis in his own right.

Demon after demon fell to one of them. More flooded through, reinforcements from the group that had detected Sam. Bobby needed to hurry with clearing that warding so Claire and Charlie could join them, and Charlie could get to the second part of their plan - exorcising the lion's share of the demons within Ackergill in an attempt to save themselves a lot of trouble and save the people they were possessing.

They'd wanted to avoid a fight like this, but it didn't look like that was going to happen.

Just as he narrowly avoided a jab that would've pierced him through the chest, Crowley felt the protection sigils on the tower break, warding against angel and demon alike shattering. He could teleport, now, a fact he was grateful for. It gave him the extra edge he needed against the forces that were now threatening to overwhelm him. He could sense where Sam was through their link, but he couldn't see him through the throng of demons that surrounded them.

Crowley jumped when he felt a celestial presence at his side. White light flashed, and he turned in time to see Claire with her hand on the forehead of a demon who had been attempting to stab him in the back. He fell to the ground, eyes burnt out of his head.

"Those lessons paying off, then?" Crowley asked, breathless.

"You could say that." Claire smote the next demon nearest her. They were panicked now that they had an angel in their midst.

Crowley heard a distant, "SUCK ON THAT, BITCHES!" and knew that Charlie was going medieval on the demons in her immediate vicinity. The red-head seemed to be handling herself well enough, if the flashes of orange light he caught out of the corner of his eye were any indication. Bobby rejoined them soon enough, throwing himself into the fray without issue.

As soon as she'd freed herself of the throng, Charlie was off and down a side passage, her laptop bag over her shoulder. It was her job to get the exorcism playing on the PA system that remained from when Ackergill Tower had been a tourist attraction, not a demonic army base. They had no choice to use a very basic exorcism that would only force out the black-eyed demons, as they didn't want to inadvertently expel Crowley from his meat suit along with the others.

With Charlie off to start the exorcism, things were going almost exactly as planned. Abaddon had not made an appearance yet, which worried him, but she was now just as fragile as any other demon with the introduction of the Stygian blades. When she arrived on the scene – which she undoubtedly would, as he knew she was still somewhere within the castle – she would finally pay for what she'd done.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't be around to see that.

It was time for the final stage of their little heist: the rescue. Perhaps the point they'd argued the most when they'd discussed it at the château. After all, where was the logic in Kevin's ex-torturer rescuing him from his current torturer?

Alas, he'd been overruled. Kevin was, after all, precious merchandise, and he was the strongest among them.

_"Can I make my dramatic exit, or do you want me to stick around to finish this number?"_ Crowley asked Sam.

_"We'll be fine. Go get Kevin. Good luck."_

_"I've found that luck has very little to do with much at all, Moose."_

In a blink, Crowley was gone, off in search of their lost prophet.


	67. Hail to the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the chapter title says it all.

During his examination of Ackergill's blueprints prior to their field trip to his homeland, Crowley had determined that Kevin was either being kept in the tower, or in the underground dungeons. He decided it would be best to check the dungeons first, as he knew that Dean was searching the tower.

Crowley's footsteps echoed loudly in the narrow hall that made up the castle's cell block. But there was another sound, now, at the end of the corridor. Screaming. Now, he had a memory for screams. One of his many talents. And he'd heard that scream before, more times than he cared to count. That was the distinct, high-pitched screaming of one Kevin Tran.

Crowley rushed towards the door at the end of the hall, which was heavily reinforced, far more reinforced than the other doors. What was once the guard room, presumably. They would want to keep the prophet somewhere with extra protection; he was the game changer, wasn't he? The single most valuable chess piece on the board.

Kevin's screams became louder, reaching a crescendo before ceasing abruptly.

Crowley rushed down the line of cells, his hand resting on the hilt of his angel blade rather than the Stygian blade, as he was more accustomed to the weight and balance of the angel blade. Summoning his energy, he blasted open the door of the guard room with a simple hand gesture.

Crowley ripped his angel blade from its sheath as he entered the room. The guard room was devoid of furnishing. There was one chair, high backed and equipped with iron bonds. In the chair was Kevin, his head fallen forward with his chin touching his chest. His torso was bare, caked with blood. His hands hung loosely from his bonds. He looked positively dreadful.

However, Crowley was more focused on the room's other occupant, a demon. But not just any demon, but one that Crowley recognized, even in his new vessel, the new vessel with misty blue eyes, short brown hair, and a slight build. He could change the skin he wore a thousand times over, but the true face underneath would always remain the same.

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks.

"Fergus," the demon said in a soft voice, like a feather barely brushing over his skin. "It's been too long."

Crowley felt the unfamiliar sensation of terror coursing through his veins. Wounds that had long since scarred over were ripped open, and repressed memories ran unbidden in his mind. Blood and laughter and screaming and begging and _pain_. Hell. Before he had ruled it. Before he had been a demon. When he had just been another soul on the rack. Crowley's eyes widened involuntarily, and he could suddenly hear his vessel's pulse in his ears, pounding. It was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking at his sides.

"Daityas," he whispered. The demon that had effectively killed his mother. The demon he'd sold his soul to. The demon that had been his torturer when the hounds had dragged him down to Hell. The demon that had broken Fergus Roderick MacLeod, shattered him, and then used the pieces to create Crowley, King of the Crossroads... and later, the King of Hell.

 _"Crowley, are you okay?"_ Sam's concerned voice spoke in his head, no doubt sensing his panic.

 _"Fine,"_ he responded, only able to focus enough to get out one word. Daityas's eyes flashed red.

"You don't seem happy to see me," Daityas lamented. "Didn't you miss me, Fergus?"

It had been so long since anyone had said his human name.

Crowley didn't respond, _couldn't_ respond. He'd forgotten how to speak, how to move, how to think. He was unwillingly captured by the living nightmares that flashed in front of his eyes, vivid recollections of his time with the other Crossroads demon. Burnt skin, torn flesh and the choking smell of iron and sulfur in his nose. And then that deceptively soft voice in his ear, crooning his name like a shared secret, making him hate the name his parents had given him.

He struggled for words but found none; he was paralyzed.

"But you go by a different name now, don't you?" Daityas asked with a tilt of his head. He smiled slowly.

Crowley swallowed, trying to regain his usual composure. "My name is Crowley," he said firmly, drawing himself up to his full height. "Otherwise known as your _King_ ," he added pointedly, trying to fill his words with a strength that he didn't feel.

" _My_ King?" Daityas echoed. "I'm afraid I don't have a King. A Queen, yes, but no King." The demon's cold eyes trailed over him. "I've been told that you're the Winchesters' demon, now. I'm surprised at you. I truly thought that I crafted you better than that."

Crowley's jaw tensed. "I prefer to think of them as my humans." Crowley nodded towards Kevin's still form. "He happens to be one of them. I suggest you let him go."

"You're too late to rescue him," Daityas replied. "The boy will bleed out soon. I admit, it has been quite sometime since I've worked on someone so... fragile. Taking a Stygian blade to him, well... I may have made an error in judgment. But, as they say, everyone makes mistakes."

He looked at Kevin, who did seem to be teetering on the brink if the erratic rise and fall of his chest was any indication. If even a few his myriad wounds were from something other than a Stygian blade, Crowley could heal him, possibly even save him... but he would have to go through Daityas to get to Kevin.

"I can almost hear you thinking," Daityas said. "I can smell your fear. It smells the same as it did when I first took my knife to your skin... when I first carved into your flesh." He smiled faintly. "It was beautiful, you know."

Crowley wanted nothing more than to run screaming from the room. His own terror disgusted him, but he had decades worth of recently recovered memories in his head of nothing more than Daityas torturing him with gleeful abandon, and with all of them swimming at the forefront of his mind, it was hard not to give into his primal flight-or-fight instinct. He damned the humanity in him for weakening him like this.

He was the King, damn it, and he wasn't about to cower in the presence of one of Abaddon's pissant lackeys, no matter Daityas's hand in Crowley's damnation. Crowley tightened his grip on his sword. He was going to have to kill Daityas in order to save Kevin. He would have to swallow back his fear and do what needed to be done.

"We don't have to fight," Daityas said, though the Stygian blade in his hand contradicted his statement. "You're above the Winchesters and their pets. They are fleeting, insignificant things. We - the demons - we are _forever_."

_"What you people fail to understand is that you are NOTHING! Fleeting, insignificant blips of light. I. Am. Forever."_

It made him sick to what little remained of his soul to think that his mindset had been similar to Daityas's just a few months prior. That he hadn't been much better than this, once upon a time.

"That's not an option," Crowley replied. "In case it's escaped your notice, Abaddon wants my head on a silver plate. She's not going to just welcome me back into the fold."

"I disagree," the demon replied. "You are powerful. Very powerful. If you swear fealty to the Queen, we would accept you back with open arms." Daityas smirked. "We're going to win this war, Fergus. You can win with us, and it will all be ours... Hell, Earth, Heaven, it will all be our domain."

Crowley stared at the other demon, realizing that his words might actually be true. Abaddon hated him with a burning passion, yes, but she would likely value his strength, especially after he managed to survive their encounter in Eden. Theoretically... he could potentially rejoin his own kind and take over. The demons certainly seemed to be faring better than the angels, at present. His chances of surviving this war would be dramatically increased if he was with Abaddon and Xaphan's lot, he knew that much.

_You can't be considering this. You can't._

Crowley was surprised that the voice in his head was his own, and not Sam's.

"What would the conditions be?" Crowley asked slowly, because the businessman in him couldn't let him just bypass a deal without at least hearing the other side's offer. "Abaddon wouldn't simply let me waltz back in with a bow and a promise. She's wanted me dead since she found out I was running Hell."

"You would have to prove your trustworthiness, of course, renounce all your loyalty to the Winchesters and their friends. Then... you would need to prove to us that you are truly on our side."

Lightning flashed outside of the window, and thunder roared close by, shaking the entire castle.

"And how would I do that, dare I ask?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester trust you. They are a thorn in our side. Use your relationship with them to ensure their deaths. Bring us their heads, and you will be rewarded. We need lieutenants, especially in wake of Bela's demise."

Crowley stared at the other demon, mind a raging disaster of conflict as he weighed his options.

Kill the Winchesters, and secure his own safety and position in the demon hierarchy. Not as high as before, granted, but as high as he'd be able to get. For the first time since he'd been thrown in with the hunters, he was faced with a choice. A real _choice_. He'd originally joined up with the Winchesters and their band of merry men because he had no other option, being devoid of his throne and kingdom and struggling with an extremely unwanted fledgling soul.

But now... now, he had a real choice.

Try to save the world, or help end it.

The power was finally in his hands. It would be absolute child's play to kill Sam and Dean. Stab Dean the first chance he got, then track down Sam and slit his throat while his back was turned. They would never expect it, and the element of surprise would make it a quick and clean affair. If he went to the demons, with his strategic mind, he didn't much doubt that they would win this war. Win it and desolate everything.

Or, he could stick with the Winchesters and by extension, the angels. They were at a distinct disadvantage, and even with him on board the chances of success were depressingly slim. It was a path that was very likely to end in his untimely demise.

_But._

Oh, yes. There was a _but,_ wasn't there?

But, somewhere between getting injected with Sam's blood and his twisted soul melding together with a fragile kind of humanity, he'd begun to feel real human emotion. He cared about Sam. Far too much. If he was being honest, he couldn't imagine going on without Sam, nor did he want to. The idea of killing Sam, of losing that part of himself that was so intrinsically connected to the hunter ... it made him feel sick. Not only that, but he'd unintentionally ended up caring for the others as well, even the prophet bleeding out right in front of him.

He wanted to keep them safe.

He wanted to fight for them.

He wanted them to come out of the war victorious.

Without another thought, Crowley sent Daityas flying back with a gesture of his hand. The demon slammed into the stone wall, taken by surprise.

"This offer of yours... it's sweet, really. I'm simply flattered." Crowley disappeared and reappeared next to Daityas a second later. "I'm sorry to say I'll have to decline."

Daityas looked up at him. To Crowley's surprise, he smiled. "Well then. Shall we pick up where we left off?" Daityas lunged with his blade, and before Crowley could fully dodge out of the way, he received a deep gash to his leg. Daityas vanished, and a second later he felt the demon's presence behind him. Crowley whirled, just in time to block a strike that would've been fatal, had it actually landed.

Crowley ducked and weaved, parrying every strike from the other demon. When it came to swords, he knew what he was doing. Daityas may have had a few centuries on him, but Crowley was a damn talented swordsman. He'd had to be, to stand up to the forces aligned against him.

And much more importantly than that, he wasn't afraid to cheat.

Crowley feinted to the side, making a go for Daityas's neck but changing his course at the last moment to head towards the demon's ribcage. Daityas didn't expect it, but he managed to avoid it enough to save himself, though his thin white shirt was ripped open and he received a wide laceration across his rib cage.

Daityas backed up, lifting a hand and sending a jet of blue flame towards Crowley. Crowley raised his hand and redirected the fire to the right before sending a fireball of his own flying at Daityas. The demon blinked out. Crowley whirled around, trying to predict where he'd appear next.

"Behind you," a voice said in his ear.

Instead of diving away like he wanted to, Crowley purposely fell backwards, hooking onto the remnants of Daityas's shirt, dragging them both to the ground. Crowley struggled his way up, straddling the other demon, pinning him down by the throat. Without hesitation, he brought his angel blade down on Daityas's right hand, severing it completely and separating him from his weapon. The demon threw his head back, growling in pain.

Daityas grabbed Crowley's left arm with his remaining hand, gripping tightly. Crowley felt white hot fire burning away a portion of his overcoat, suit coat, and button down, incinerating it all before burning and warping the skin of his arm. He ignored the pain and the pungent aroma of burning flesh, instead choosing to glare down at his former tormenter with all the hatred he could muster.

Crowley lifted his sword to strike again. It was time for his revenge. Finally, after three centuries, he would have his vengeance.

"Do it, Fergus," Daityas growled. "Kill again and blacken your heart even more."

Crowley didn't hesitate. "In for a penny, in for a pound."

He swung his arm. However, just as his angel blade soared towards its destination, Daityas opened his mouth wide, and smoke shot out like a jet. There was a sickening, squelching sound of bone, tendon, and muscle being torn apart, but by the time his meat suit's head was separated from his shoulders, Daityas's essence was already pooling above Crowley's head like some noxious storm cloud.

"Bollocks!" Daityas was going to escape, and there wasn't much he could do to stop him.

However, a second later, Crowley realized that the reality of the situation was far worse than that.

The cloud of smoke was headed directly towards Kevin.

Crowley shouted, "NO!"

Too late. Kevin's mouth was forced open, and smoke poured down his throat. His body jerked in an unnatural manner, only serving to further open his grievous wounds and jangle the chains that bound him to the chair.

Crowley rose to his feet, and for a few moments, the guard room was utterly still and silent.

Kevin's eyes opened, and they were blood red.

"Now, this just makes everything all the more _interesting_ , doesn't it?" Kevin's voice was gone, replaced by a disturbing imitation that was ancient and far too soft. Daityas grinned with his stolen mouth, and it threatened to send a shiver up Crowley's spine.

The shackles binding Kevin to the chair snapped open, and Daityas rose, cracking his neck. He flicked his wrist, and his angel blade returned to his hand, a hand that was caked in blood, like a large majority of the body he'd hijacked. Crowley could see now that Kevin's anti-possession tattoo had been burnt out of existence – judging by the way the burn looked now, it had been incinerated several days beforehand.

Horror coursed through Crowley's veins like frigid water. _Sweet mother of sin._

"You've figured it out, haven't you?" Daityas chuckled lowly. "Castiel and Kevin, I must credit them… they are strong. They wouldn't tell me a thing, no matter my creativity. The angel trials prevented me from possessing Castiel, but the prophet was available to me. My Queen instructed me to get inside of him and see what I could find… and I found everything."

"Everything," Crowley repeated numbly.

Daityas encroached on him. Crowley could hear a series of several more explosions coming from above them. "The compendium of tablets… Leviathan, Demon, Angel… and Man. The Man tablet, which is just waiting to be found… and what does it contain, but the spell that will rip apart the very fabric of the universe."

"You fool," Crowley said, shaking his head. "You bloody fool, you think this is some kind of _trump card_ for you? What kind of world is it that you want to take over? A burnt-out cinder?"

"No world at all, of course. Look around you. Look at this place that the humans have built. It's disgusting. Why take control of this sorry excuse for a planet when we can burn it and the rest of the universe down to mere ashes, and rebuild? Build a paradise for demonkind?"

"Do you really think that's how it's going to go? Hell freezing over, that's proof enough that Xaphan doesn't give a damn about your kind. He's no better than Lucifer, just using you all as cannon fodder."

"You were wrong during the first apocalypse, Crowley, just as you are wrong, now. We serve Xaphan because he is fighting this war for us. For Lucifer's vision. Hell on Earth. In Heaven. Everywhere."

"And that vision was just as idiotic now as it was then," he countered. "The whole point of Hell is to corrupt humanity. Pray tell, what are we supposed to do if there's no humanity?"

"I'm not here to argue with you, Fergus," Daityas said calmly. "We have always seen differently when it comes to the nature of Hell, and I do not expect that to change. We have more pressing matters to address at the moment."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to walk out of here with the prophet," he said simply. "And there is nothing you can do to stop me... unless, of course, you kill the boy, which would naturally kill me as well."

Daityas made to move for the door. Crowley teleported mere inches in front of him, putting the tip of his angel blade to Kevin's blood-drenched throat. Daityas smiled with the prophet's stolen teeth.

"I know you better than you know yourself," Daityas mocked him in that quiet, disturbingly even voice that sounded so wrong coming out of Kevin's mouth. "Indulge yourself. Would it really be a loss? There will always be another prophet. Always. And I can see how this boy hates you... he would kill you, given the chance, but he's too much of a coward. Would you not do he same?"

Crowley didn't respond, just kept the tip of the blade positioned just inches under his chin. One swipe, and Daityas would be gone. Dead. Finally, the other demon would pay for all that he'd done to him. All he'd ruined and destroyed.

But Kevin would die.

"What are you, suicidal?" he asked, at length. "If you want death, I'm not about to give it to you. I don't let anyone off that easy."

"It would be poetic, wouldn't you say? The student finally surpassing the master..." Daityas moved just an increment closer, the blade biting into Kevin's skin enough to draw a droplet of blood. "You had such potential, from the very start. I've been watching you since you were a child, and I knew... I knew you were the one Lilith would want."

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"She told me to find her a lieutenant. To build her one. To build a _King_ , the one who would lead the Crossroads demons and create an army of damned souls for when we finally raised our Father. I was... let's say I was a talent scout." He trailed his finger down the blade at his throat. "I knew when I saw you that you were destined for something very great indeed."

"My mother..."

"Was all to get to you. To turn you into what I needed you to be from afar. Every twist and turn of your life, every second that led up to you selling your soul... it was all for this, for you. To create a demon that would be instrumental in bringing humanity to its knees. Imagine my surprise when you derailed the apocalypse and took Hell for yourself. Unfortunately, it seems I did my job too well. I should've known when you left the Pit that you would never be content to sit at Lucifer's side. No, you would only be happy once you climbed up a mountain of corpses and took the throne for yourself."

"If you've got a point, make it." So, his whole life as Fergus MacLeod, from the very start, was just part of Hell's plot? Every second he drew breath as a human was all leading up to his ultimate damnation, to this... to _Crowley_.

He was born to be a demon. Somehow, he couldn't find it within himself to be surprised.

"I've been proud of you. Of what I turned you into. I want to see if I still have reason to be. Are you still a King, Fergus? Or are you a pauper, willing to serve humans?" Daityas lifted his hand and placed it on the side of his face. Crowley shuddered, ducking away from it, but it followed. "Come now, my apprentice. Show me that you're still the same beautiful monster I created."

Crowley truly didn't believe in evil for a long time; at least not in the way that humans tended to define it. So many people simply saw this _line_ , some imagined Great Wall of China between saints and sinners. Good was good and bad was bad – everything was painted in black and white, and there wasn't an ounce of gray to speak of. One was to be strived for, the other to be avoided at all costs.

He didn't look at the world like that.

Evil was a concept created by humans, for humans. Do this, and you're evil. Do this, and you're good. God loves you and you get a pat on the back and divine salvation. Otherwise, have fun in your eternal hot spring with Satan.

As a demon, he held himself above that. Evil and good were human things; he did what he needed to do in order to protect himself and further his own agenda. Was he selfish? Hell yes, he was selfish. Why deny his instinct? What point was there? He did what he wanted to who he wanted, and no one could stop him, even Hell's finest. He was already a demon, after all. What punishment could possibly await him?

Being a pure demon, 'evil' was the ultimate freedom.

Being partially human, it was the ultimate temptation.

Through his brush with humanity, Crowley had learned a thing or two. He could write a book, if he was motivated to. He still couldn't quite say that he believed in evil… he told Claire that he believed in choices, and he did. That night that Sam had injected him with human blood, the night he'd come close to being saved (or doomed?), he had seen the darkness inside of himself, and he had hated it.

To hate darkness is to see and acknowledge good: therefore, there must have been good inside of him, even then, and over the past few months, it had grown.

More than three centuries old, and he was still learning. There was good and evil within everyone, or at least the potential for it. What mattered was what side you chose, or at least which you chose the most often… which you kept trying to fight your way back to. For a long time, he'd thought himself permanently on the dark side, regardless of what he did to try to amend his transgressions.

Even now, he would never forgive himself for all he'd done – and truthfully, he didn't believe he deserved forgiveness – but looking into Daityas's cold eyes, he realized that perhaps he had inadvertently wandered into the light and become better, become… half good, at the very least. He felt thousands of miles away from this monster that created him.

Looking in those hijacked eyes, he was forced to face two things.

One: Evil did, indeed, exist, and it was staring him in the face.

Two: For the time being, Crowley was not evil. And really, he rather liked that.

Thunder rumbled outside. Crowley glared at the other demon. "Get. Bent."

And with that, Crowley promptly vacated his vessel. Red smoke poured out of his throat, and his body fell away, hitting the floor hard. He would have flinched if he'd had a physical form with which to do so. He forced himself past Kevin's lips and into his body. He wasn't going to kill Daityas. Not today. But soon. His only goal now was to force the demon out of Kevin so he could get the prophet the hell out of there.

He could only hope that he was stronger than Daityas. His creator was ancient and a Crossroads demon just like him, so the strength of their smoke forms would likely be almost equal. But as Daityas said, Crowley was made for great things. Designed from the start to be the King of the Crossroads. Today, he would make Daityas regret choosing him to be Lilith's right hand.

Great things, indeed.

It was a disorienting battle inside of Kevin's body, two demonized essences battling against one another, trying to force the other out, constantly changing who was at the helm of Kevin's body. One second Crowley was in control and aware that Kevin was lying flat on his back on the dungeon floor and writhing, and the other he was wrapped in nothing but darkness, aware only of the opposing force he was battling with as Daityas took back the reigns, fighting tooth and nail with all he had.

Kevin was screaming internally. It was the only sound Crowley could hear.

 _"You can't defeat me, Fergus. I know all of the chinks in your armor,"_ Daityas's voice echoed out as Crowley did his best to eject him from Kevin's body. Unfortunately, the other demon was holding on with all of his might, digging in his talons and refusing to budge.

_"I've gotten some new armor since last we crossed paths, darling."_

Gathering every ounce of will and strength that he had within his swirling red vortex of infernal intent, he finally was able to force out Daityas's invading presence. Kevin's head was thrown back, his mouth opened, and Daityas's smoke poured out. Crowley was disoriented for a long moment before he recaptured full control of Kevin's body. He blinked his new eyes, coming to just in time to see Daityas's smoke filter under the crack in the guard room door.

And so, he got away, but at least Crowley had the satisfaction of having defeated Daityas - and proving that he was not the same demon that he had churned out of the Pit so long ago.

No. He was far better.

"Alright, Kev," he muttered. He allowed Kevin as much awareness as he could without allowing him to feel the excruciating pain from his wounds. The teen was still in hysterics on the inside, and Crowley did his best to soothe him. "There, there. No use crying over spilled blood. I'm getting you out of here."

 _"GET THE HELL OUT OF ME!"_ Kevin screamed at him.

"Afraid not. If I do, you're going to bleed out, and that would certainly ruin the touching and heroic feat I just performed to save your delicate little hide." Ah. It was strange to hear Kevin's voice when he spoke. He stooped down to pick up his own abandoned vessel, throwing the relatively small body over his shoulder. "Kids these days. So ungrateful."

With a thought, Crowley and Kevin were gone.


	68. Kryptonite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a lot of homoerotic subtext, and Team Free Will hits a bump in the road.

The spiral staircase that led up the turret seemed to go on forever, and Dean felt like he was running in place. Once he finally reached the top, he found a long stone hallway stretching out in front of him, lit only by flickering torches on the wall. Doors were interspersed on either side, all heavily reinforced.

_Cas is here_ , he thought to himself.

He could feel it. He didn't know how... but he _knew._

Dean checked each room in the corridor, anxiety building in his stomach all the while. All of them were identical. Half of the room was a cell guarded by rusty iron bars, and the others half was occupied only by a bare cot complete with heavy metal restraints. Alongside the cot was a small wooden table littered with typical torture tools. The only thing that varied from room to room was the blood stains.

Finally, Dean reached the end of the hallway. The large cast-iron door that waited for him there had an Enochian warding sigil branded into it, placing specific warding on that room alone. Dean grabbed the door handle.

"Sorry, assholes, but that ain't gonna keep me out," he muttered to himself. He tore the door open. He was met with an empty cot, but when he looked further back into the cell, he saw a slumped figure leaning against the stone wall. Prone. Weak. Motionless.

Dean marked the erratic beat of his heart with half-whispered prayers under his breath. _God, if you give a damn? Now would be a good time to show it._

A few steps into the room. He didn't know if he imagined it or not, but he felt as thought the temperature in the tower cell was dozens of degrees cooler than that of the corridor that preceeded it.

Dean's eyes were transfixed on the still figure. Through the blood, bruises, and grime, he saw a glimpse of Castiel. Without any further hesitation, he rushed to the door of the cage. Locked. He quickly took his pistol out of its holster and blasted the pad lock off, his ears ringing after the blast.

Cas showed no reaction at all to the gun shot. The door swung open, and Dean pushed inside.

_Thudda thudda, thudda thudda._

"Cas," Dean managed, legs suddenly stalling. He looked bad. So bad. Still no movement.

_Thudda thudda, thudda thudda._

" _Shit_ , Cas."

With a jolt, like some invisible force shoving him forward, Dean was on his knees in front of the once-angel. Cas's head hung so low that his chin was touching his chest. His legs were spread out in front of him, his hands hanging loosely in the gap between them. Cas was clad only in boxers, boxers from that first time Dean had taken him clothes shopping. He'd been so fucking proud that Cas had picked them out. What had he said to Cas? _"Only pansies wear briefs."_

It seemed like a hundred years ago, not just a few months.

A lot had changed in those months.

Dean and Cas had changed.

Watching, waiting, eyes on his chest. _Please. God, please._

Finally, he noticed a shallow rise - and then a corresponding fall. Dean let out a sigh of relief so deep that it shook him. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he held them back. No. Not now. He had a job to do. He had to get Cas out of here, had to get him somewhere safe.

Dean put his hands on Cas's cheeks, which were cold and sticky underneath Dean's palms, and he tilted his friend's head up.

"Cas, man, come on. You gotta wake up," Dean begged quietly, thumbs resting against Cas's cheek bones.

Eyeylids parted. Hazy orbs the color of clear blue sky gazed up at Dean, but they seemed to look through him, rather than _at_ him.

_Thudda thudda._

Jesus, what had they done to him?

Cas's face was one hell of a mess. Dean felt bile rising in his throat as he took in the full extent of the damage. Cas's lips were split open and caked with dried blood. His jaw was spectacularly swollen – it looked broken. The ex-angel's hair was matted down with gore. Dean was forced to drop his right hand when he realized that someone must've taken a blow torch to much of the right side of Cas's face and neck.

_You recognize good work when you see it,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Alastair's whispered in the back of his mind. _He's been broken down into pieces. Whoever worked him over knew what they were doing._

Now that Dean was more in the moment, he could smell the burnt flesh. _Cas's_ burnt flesh. He made a conscious effort to keep his hands from curling into fists. No, he kept them flat. Flat and on Cas's face, palms memorizing each crack and cut, each twitch of his cheek and jaw.

"Shit, Cas… Cas, I'm here…" He patted Cas's unburned cheek, trying to get the ex-angel to meet his eyes. "Look at me." _Recognize me. Please._

The other man let out a whimper, trying to shy away from Dean. Like he was afraid. Afraid of _Dean_. Dean gripped Cas's shoulder tightly, the thumb of his other hand brushing just underneath Cas's left eye, trying to calm him down. "Look at me," he repeated. "Castiel, it's me. It's _Dean_. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'd never hurt you. You know that."

He'd hurt Cas before, so it wasn't exactly true. They'd both hurt each other, physically and otherwise. But in that moment, it didn't matter. Dean found himself sworing inward oaths to never take Cas for granted again, to never hurt him, never leave him, _never never never_ \- nothing made sense in his head, just a driving need to escape with Cas, his Cas, the Cas with bright inquisitive eyes that met his own and seemed to say, _"Hello, Dean,"_ without the ex-angel actually uttering the words.

Cas made that so un-Cas like whimpering sound again, and Dean wondered if this was what heart break felt like. Wanting to cry and scream and kill something all at the same time. Feeling like something had crawled inside of his chest, and now it was clawing and tearing, ripping everything to shreds and roaring all the while.

A tear slipped down Dean's cheek. _Damn it._ He felt like he'd failed at some great purpose. Cas may have been destined to watch over him, but since the angel had become human, it had felt like their roles had been reversed. He'd wanted to protect Cas. Gave everything he had to protect him.

Yeah. He'd failed. Pretty damn hard, too.

"Castiel," he choked out, and gently leaned his forehead against the ex-angel's. Cas's usual scent was gone – to Dean, his skin had always smelled like rain, like a field of drenched grass after a thunderstorm – replaced by blood, sweat, and fear. He kept their eyes locked, trying to spot Cas amidst all of the pain and terror, trying to coax him out.

A memory came unbidden into his thoughts – a kitten that he and Sam had found as kids, hiding and trembling underneath the porch of a B&B Dad had them staying at in Delaware. Dean had been twelve, maybe thirteen, but Sammy was already smarter than he was, even at age nine. Sam had wanted to pet the thing, and in spite of his better judgment, Dean had gone after it for his little brother. He'd made a grab for the thing, but it had darted off with a startled mew. Dean had huffed out an angry sigh, making to follow after it into the bushes, but Sam's voice had stopped him.

_"Dean,"_ he'd said with the exasperation of someone five times his age. _"You can't just go after it. You need to reach out to it_." He'd turned back to Sam, and the nine year old had his hands out in front of him, palms up. _"You gotta keep your hands open."_ Sammy had said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Come back to me," Dean whispered, removing his hands from Cas's face. Palms up, he took Cas's bloodsoaked hands in his. Reaching out. In a moment of clarity, he suddenly understood Crowley's nickname for the former angel.

"…D…De…" Shaking hands suddenly gripped Dean's back. It was desperate, like Dean was the only thing keeping him above water, stopping him from drowning. Cas dragged in a ragged breath, but there was a new lucidity in his eyes.

There was _recognition._

"Dean."

He'd never been so happy to hear his name in his life.

"Hey, Cas," Dean managed with a watery, strained smile. "I'm gonna get you out of here, alright? Everything's gonna be okay. I promise."

_Don't make promises you can't keep,_ Sam's voice rang out in his head. Dean ignored the imagined advice.

"Dean… I…"

"Shh, Cas. Don't talk." He could tell that speaking hurt the ex-angel. His throat had no doubt been wrecked from prolonged screaming. Or maybe acid? That had been one of Alastair's favorite tricks. "Can you walk? Just nod or shake your head."

Dean withdrew from Cas slightly. He felt moisture on his forehead from where his had touched Cas's. Blood, he was guessing.

Cas seemed to think for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "M-might… need help."

"I've got you, Cas," Dean assured him. "I've got you," he repeated. After one last squeeze of the ex-angel's hands, Dean slipped under Cas's arm. "Ready? One… two… three…"

Dean rose to his feet, and with a sharp exhale of pain, Cas came with him. The other man trembled violently, leaning heavily on Dean. Dean felt calm, though. He was getting them out. All they had to do was slip out the back before any reinforcements were called.

"It's okay. One step at a time," Dean said gently as he and Cas began moving slowly but surely out of the dingy cell. Their progress wasn't particularly fast, but he could tell that Cas was trying hard to make his legs obey his commands. Dean wondered how long it had been since the ex-angel had been allowed to walk.

Dean frowned when over the constant rumble of thunder and deluge of rain, he thought he heard sounds of battle from below. Shit. New arrivals. And the exorcism had long since stopped playing on the PA.

They reached the door. They continued their three-legged race into the hallway. It sounded like Cas was finding it very difficult to breathe.

"I – I knew you would come for me," Cas murmured, swaying like a sapling in the breeze. "It was – it was the only thing…" he trailed off, but Dean could fill in the blank himself.

"Good," he said. "I mean, it's good that you know that. No matter where you are, no matter what happens, no matter how crappy things get, I'll always come for you. I'll always find you." _I need you to know that._

"I know," Cas responded, barely audible.

They reached the end of the cell block. Dean kicked open the door that led to the stone spiral staircase.

"What's… happening?" Cas asked.

"Rescue mission," Dean explained shortly.

"…the angels?"

"Well, they were planning on coming for you in the morning," Dean said. "We didn't feel like waiting that long." Obviously it was more complicated than that, but he didn't need to give Cas the fully story right now. He just needed to get him somewhere safe.

Cas made a dry, wheezing sound as they descended the stairs, and after a moment, Dean identified the noise as a laugh. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Always… so impatient." Cas broke off into a coughing fit before he could continue. "I can't say that… I'm not grateful, in this instance…" Cas laughed again, and even though it was a dry, broken laugh, it warmed Dean from the inside out. It was like he was breathing for the first time in a week.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Dean felt like he was supporting almost all of Cas's weight. "Come on, Cas," he urged. "It's not much further. There's a place we can wait out the fighting."

"Who came with you?" Cas rasped out.

"Sam, Bobby, Charlie, Crowley, and Claire. Whole cavalry."

Cas's feverish eyes turned to him, widening. "Six people to take on… dozens of demons?"

"Well, we thought we would get in and out pretty clean, but it sounds like we hit a snag. We'll deal with it. We've done more with less."

"You should have… should've waited."

"Angels were gonna kamikaze the place. I wasn't gonna let you and Kevin get turned into collateral damage. Come on. Just down this hallway."

They turned, and Cas stumbled, but Dean was able to catch him before he fell.

"I won't be this weak for long," Cas told him. "I – most of these wounds will heal quickly."

"Cas, I hate to break it to you, but from here it's looking like you're gonna be laid up in bed for at least a month with everything those bastards did to you."

"Only one bastard," he corrected roughly. "The trials… periodically, they heal my body… in its entirety."

Dean almost froze at that, but his survival instinct kept him moving. "Seriously?"

"Yes… Daityas found it infuriating."

"Daityas. That the name of the demon who carved you up?"

"Yes."

"You know what I'm gonna do to him, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. But listen, did he, uh, did he ever use a weird, glassy looking kind of sword on you? Because-"

"Stygian ice," Cas coughed out, cutting him off. "Yes. But just today. I am aware that… that the wounds cannot be healed… magically."

"But the rest, the trials'll take care of it?"

"Soon enough."

"Thank God for that much." They ducked into the feed room that he and Sam had entered through. There was water pooled on the floor due to the open window, and the temperature was frigid. "Okay. We're gonna have to wait here until we can get either Claire or Crowley to give you a ride to France."

"France?"

"We're holed up in a chateau over there with the angels. It's been a fun week, let me tell you." Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out his walkie-talkie. Hitting the button, he spoke into it. "Crowley? Crowley? You there?"

Dean waited. He received no response from the King. Damn it. That either meant that the demon was indisposed, dead, or had already escaped with Kevin. Dean hoped for the latter, because that meant Crowley would be returning any second.

"We're going to have to wait here for a little while," he told Cas. Dean pocketed the walkie-talkie and gently deposited Cas in the hay pile. Cas held onto him tightly, his fingers twisted up in the fabric of his shirt sleeves.

Dean sat down alongside the ex-angel, and Cas practically burrowed into him. He put his arm around Cas's back. "Hey, hey. It's okay."

"I…" He'd never felt anyone tremble as harshly as Cas was in that moment. "I don't know… why, but I… I am very convinced… that if I let go of you, you'll disappear."

"I won't, Cas. I'm real. I'm not gonna leave you." Cas closed his eyes, not responding. "You must be fucking freezing, man. Let me go for a second so I can give you my coat."

Cas didn't seem to like that idea, but he did remove his hands for a moment, only to replace them at Dean's leg, gripping his knee. Dean shrugged out of his coat, which was soaked on the outside, but luckily the inside was still perfectly warm and dry. He put it over Cas's shoulders, zipping it up to the ex-angel's chin. He looked ridiculous in just underwear and Dean's coat, but there wasn't much else he could do for him until he got him out of Ackergill.

Dean pulled Cas to him, hoping he could transfer some kind of warmth to his shivering friend. Cas buried his head in the crook of Dean's neck, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle. Dean returned the embrace, gently putting his arms around Cas's back and squeezing ever so gently, so as not to jar any of his injuries.

After a few moments of silence, Cas whispered, "He told me you were... were dead. Daityas."

Dean wasn't sure how to respond.

"I..." Cas's eyes closed. "I knew he was lying. But... I still feared..."

"Hey," Dean said, resting his chin on Cas's head. "I'm still breathing. You're still breathing... we're good, Cas. We're good."

A sigh escaped the ex-angel's lips. "Yes. We're very good."

* * *

"Kevin, for the love of all that's unholy, STOP BLOODY SCREAMING!"

The prophet didn't seem particularly keen on listening, as he continued his internal histrionics once they arrived at the chateau. Crowley could tell that Kevin's mind had been pried apart at the seams over the past week and he was teetering on the brink of utter insanity, but Crowley had wished in vain that Kevin would at least be able to tell the difference between friend and foe.

Then again, to say that the two of them were in 'friend' territory would be to say that Hitler and Churchill were drinking buddies.

Crowley was immediately waylaid by angels when he appeared in the courtyard. Two angels stood guard at the main doors that led back into the chateau. Their eyes widened as he approached them. He knew what they were seeing; the body of a prophet, possessed by a demon, with a body thrown over his shoulder – the preferred meat suit of the King of Hell.

The angels were, unsurprisingly, displeased.

"What is the meaning of this, demon?" One of the angels asked, a short, ginger haired one that strongly resembled a garden gnome.

"I suggest you get out of my way, Feathers. I'm not in the mood to explain myself. Anthriel will get the cliff notes when all's said and done," Crowley answered shortly.

"You are possessing a prophet of the Lord! Violating him! Get out of him immediately!" the other angel insisted.

"If only I had a dime for every time someone shouted that at me..." Crowley pushed past the angels. Let them follow him, or better yet, try to stop him. It's not as if they'd attempt to kill him, not in his current skin. No, Kevin Tran made a fine set of armor.

The angels didn't come after him, but he was sure they were on the angel radio, alerting Anthriel to what he had done. He doubted that any members of the Heavenly Host had even noticed their absence when they'd left for Scotland several hours before hand. It was well past four in the morning, now, and he knew it wouldn't be long now before the angels launched their assault on Ackergill.

He wished he could see their faces when they arrived and found that the castle was devoid of anything other than vacant vessels.

Before long, Crowley was in his room at the château. He set his usualy body down on the bed gently, grateful that he would be able to return to him soon. He was already halfway out of Kevin's pants when he entered the bathroom.

_"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME-"_

"I'm healing you," Crowley cut across him. Looking in the mirror, he could see a hysterical Kevin staring back at him, the Kevin that was currently trapped and unable to control his own body. "I can't do anything for the wounds from the Stygian blades, but I can at least take care of all of the other nicks and scrapes you've gotten over the past week."

Kevin just stared at him, eyes wide and mouth partially open. _"Why?"_ he asked.

"Having a hard time keeping up, Kev? You're supposed to be the smart one. If I don't fix you..." Crowley dragged a finger across Kevin's throat before turning his attention the wounds that the boy was covered in. Everything from burns to deep bruises to broken bones. What a mess. Crowley wasn't surprised. He knew from experience that Daityas was nothing if not a thorough torturer.

_"I – I mean, why did you save me?"_

Crowley breathed deeply, beginning the process of healing Kevin's more grievous injuries. He just needed the prophet to be in decent enough shape to be left alone for a short time while he returned to finish cleaning up things at Ackergill and get the others out. He reached into the medicine cabinet underneath the sink. He would have to bandage Kevin's unhealable Stygian blade related injuries.

"You're an important game piece on the board. Couldn't afford to lose any precious cargo," Crowley replied dismissively as he began to wrap the large slash across Kevin's abdomen. "Never knew you had abs, Kevin. You've been holding out on me."

He felt a thrill of disgust from Kevin – more so than the usual – but the teen still pressed in his line of questioning. _"There will always be other prophets. I know what Daityas did to you. He made you a demon."_

"I try not to dwell on the past."

Crowley tore off a bit of surgical tape with his borrowed teeth and used it to finish off the bandage around Kevin's midsection. The only other badly bleeding one at present was one on his right bicep. In due time, he wrapped that one as well. Kevin's appearance was already clearing up significantly, most of his wounds healing quickly under the influence of Crowley's powers.

Kevin fell silent, then, calming down and seemingly regressing into a state of shock. Crowley wasn't surprised. He had been impressed that Kevin had two strands of sanity to connect together after his week with Daityas. Then again, the prophet was stronger than most gave him credit for. After all, there had only been a few people he'd met in his long life that he knew wouldn't break under his knife... although Kevin hadn't been one of those individuals originally, he had grown. Adapted.

He was a brave man, Kevin Tran. Truly.

Crowley walked Kevin's body back into the main room. He sat him down on the bed. Crowley forced the teen's mouth open and promptly vacated his body. Once Crowley's smoke form was swirling through the air, Kevin collapsed back on the bed with a gasp. Crowley spiraled down into his typical vessel, taking control quickly and feeling practically relieved to be back 'home', as it were. He'd been playing musical meat suits all day, and he didn't like it one bit.

Crowley rose to his feet, feeling the throb of the injuries that Daityas had dealt to him. He rubbed his rent open shoulder (he was going to need a new suit - _again_ ) as he considered Kevin, whose eyes were currently closed. The prophet was utterly still. He must have slipped into unconsciousness. Probably for the best, given current circumstances. With a grimace, Crowley shifted Kevin so that he could pull the covers up over the boy. Once Kevin was effectively tucked in, Crowley turned away from him, picking up the weapons that he'd left on the floor.

The battle wasn't won just yet.

* * *

Dean had never been so happy to see Crowley in his life when the demon appeared in front of them.

"Ah, Castiel. Good to see you alive and... 'well' isn't the word I would use, but I'm sure you get the gist." Dean carefully extricated himself from Cas's arms. "Aren't you two adorable. I hate to interrupt the lover's embrace, but-"

"Shut up, Crowley," Dean interrupted. "Is Kevin okay? Did you get him?"

"Okay? No. Breathing? Yes. He's safe and relatively sound at the chateau."

"Good, good." Dean turned to Cas, putting his hand on the angel's shoulder. "Cas? Can you stand?"

Cas nodded after a moment. "Yes, I think so." Dean gripped the ex-angel by his arms and helped him carefully to his feet. Cas's legs were unsteady underneath him, but he managed to keep himself upright.

"Let's go," Dean said to Crowley.

Crowley merely arched an eyebrow, making no move to act. "You're not staying? According to what Moose just told me, he and the rest of our crack team are currently neck-deep in demons."

"I'm not leaving Cas alone," he said firmly. He wanted nothing more than to join up with the others and help thin out the newest crowd of demons, but with all that Cas had been through in the past week, he couldn't leave him alone in good conscience.

"Dean," Cas rasped. "I will be fine. Go help the others, they need you more right now.

"Cas..." Dean pursed his lips before pulling the ex-angel into a gentle hug. "We won't take long, okay? Just hang in there." Cas returned the hug with one arm, and Dean felt a strong electric current running between them. It made his hair stand on end and his skin itch, but it didn't harm him.

"Be careful, my friend." Cas pulled away from him, and Dean saw a blue haze suffusing Cas. Before his very eyes, he saw cuts on Cas's face knitting themselves back together, and burns dissipating into thin air and giving way to pink, new flesh.

"Holy crap," Dean muttered as he took in the sight of Cas's body healing itself.

"Isn't that just fascinating?" Crowley observed, narrowing his eyes at Cas. "All that Heaven juice running through you... it's healing you."

"Good," Dean said emphatically. He turned his attention to Crowley. "Okay – get him the hell out of here."

Crowley set his hand on Cas's slumped shoulder. "Back in a jiffy." A second later, the demon and ex-angel vanished. As soon as they were gone, Dean was out the door and down the hallway, following the sounds of explosions. He suspected that the others had nearly run out of their supply of demon bombs. As soon as they lost that edge, he expected things were going to take a turn for the worse.

That was, if they hadn't already done so.

* * *

Someone had called in reinforcements. Stronger demons.

Demons that their recorded exorcism didn't work on.

The crowd had come fast, nearly overwhelming them. Black smoke had raged and swirled overhead before reclaiming the abandoned host bodies of those that had been exorcised before them. A battle had begun, and the odds were not in their favor.

Charlie had raced back into the entrance hall, demons on her tail and blood covering half of her face, declaring, "PA system's down!"

So, they had to fight.

And fight they did.

Sam had lost count of how many demons he had killed. It was a mess. He'd sent himself sprawling more than once just tripping over the corpses of the demons they'd already taken down. It was a blur of blood and the clashing of blades. He did what he could to keep track of Bobby, Claire, and Charlie, and he was relatively sure that they were all still alive and mostly okay, but he was concerned as to how long that was going to last.

They just. Kept. Coming.

One thing worried him more than anything else. They still hadn't seen Abaddon. Crowley said she was in the tower - and in Lailah's vessel, no less - so he was shocked that she hadn't made an appearance yet.

Sam lit up his final demon bomb, tossing it into a throng racing towards him. It exploded, turning them all into burnt shadows on the stone walls. Sulfur and blood hung in the air like a fine mist, making him feel sick to his stomach from the aching hunger of his gone-but-not-forgotten demon blood addiction. Just as he cleared out an entire group, he was tackled to the ground by another demon, knocking the wind out of him. He wrestled with the large male demon, struggling to get a hold of his knife, but his hand was pinned between their chests, limiting his movement.

Orange light suddenly flashed from the demon's eyes sockets and opened mouth. He fell away, freeing Sam. Charlie stood behind him, angel blade in hand. She looked like hell, with a collection of injuries he couldn't even begin to catalogue, but she was still standing and breathing. For now, that was all that mattered. Their eyes met briefly, a silent 'thank you' and 'you're welcome' between the two of them, and then Charlie was whirling around to block a strike from a slim female demon behind her.

All of that LARPing was really coming in handy. Charlie was quite the swordswoman.

He pushed himself to his feet and reentered the fray without hesitation. Time. They just needed to buy more time.

"BOMBS AWAY, ASSHOLES!"

Sam grinned. Dean had returned. There was an explosion nearby, followed by corresponding shouts of pain. A few seconds later, Dean was at his side, dueling with a demon, his angel blade a fast moving white blur.

"Heya Sammy," he greeted. "Cas and Kevin are good, both back in France."

"Thank God. What about Crowley?"

"He'll be back soon." Dean kicked a demon in the chest, sending them reeling backwards. "Means I'm gonna have to use all these bombs before that."

Dean lit another flare-like bomb and tossed it into the crowd. Sam was soon separated from his brother by another wave of demons, but he was always aware of his location from the sound of the bombs bursting and the dying screams of the demons they eviscerated.

Dean was exactly what they needed to help thin the crowd. Soon, there were only a few demons left. Claire planted her hand on the forehead of one, smiting them. Dean skewered another through the middle with his angel blade. Sam slit the throat of the last demon near him with Ruby's knife. Charlie disarmed and impaled the demon she was dueling with. Finally, Bobby drove his weapon through the skull of the last demon. It fell to the ground with a dull thump, finally ending the bloody combat.

They were all breathing hard. Charlie stumbled to her knees immediately, her leg soaked with blood below the knee. "That… was…"

"War." They all jumped. Crowley had appeared in front of the door. The demon flicked his eyes around the room and the bleeding demon bodies piled high. "And it's just the beginning."

"That sounds perfectly ominous," Charlie breathed out with difficulty. Claire went to her side and helped her to her feet, throwing Charlie's arm over her shoulder. Claire appeared to be in the best shape of all of them, unsurprising giving her angelic advantage, but she still had a nasty collection of injuries.

"That's because it is," Crowley said shortly. "The other side cheated. Kevin was possessed. So, everything that was rattling around in that noggin of his is now common knowledge, including that nasty apocalyptic prophecy he uncovered."

"The one that you were convinced was going to be the end of the universe as we know it?" Bobby asked.

"Oh yes."

"So, we're doomed," Claire said flatly.

"Not quite. Now that we've got Kevin in hand, Xaphan and Abaddon have lost the code to the nuke they plan to set off. I'll explain more later, but to make a long story short: there's still hope. Not much, but it's there."

"Alright, let's get out of here before the angels show up. They're not going to be happy when they find out what we've done," Sam said.

"Why wouldn't they be? We did their job for them," Claire pointed out.

"You think Anthriel's gonna be happy when she figures out that we pulled a reach-around on her?" Dean asked.

"Well, we got bigger problems than pissing off Ms. High and Mighty," Bobby said.

Sam looked at Bobby, opening his mouth and intending to respond. That was, until the point of a Stygian blade suddenly poked through Bobby's chest, the tip soaked in blood.

Bobby looked down, his eyes widening. "Balls."


	69. No Allegiance to the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bad things happen.

As soon as the sword was ripped out, Bobby fell to the ground with a gasp of pain. Behind him stood Lailah, who held the Stygian blade now soaked with Bobby's blood. No, not Lailah – it was Abaddon.

They were all frozen in shock, staring at Bobby's prone form on the ground, a pool of blood spreading quickly around him. He wasn't moving.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled, horrified. Sam couldn't speak aloud, but in Crowley's head, he was screaming.

 _"No, no!_ _Not again! This can't be happening again!"_

Abaddon smiled. "Hello, boys."

Crowley glared at Abaddon, and Crowley knew that Sam could feel the waves of rage rolling off of him, thick and pungent. Sam's hands clenched at his sides. It was like fire was burning over their bond, roasting both of their veins and boiling their blood. The very sight of the she-demon, new meatsuit or not, enraged Crowley on a base, animalistic level, and he couldn't stem the flow of anger.

He hated her for everything she'd taken from him.

He hated her for all the pain she'd caused, for killing Bobby, for taking Cas and Kevin, for hurting the Winchesters.

He hated her for representing the very thing inside of him he'd been trying to run from since the cure that almost was.

He _hated her._

"Claire. Take Charlie and go," Crowley ordered.

Claire didn't question him. Fear in her eyes, she grabbed Charlie by the shoulder and disappeared a second later.

Abaddon sauntered forward. "Hi Crowley," she said, smirking.

"Hello, whore."

"Language," Abaddon tutted, flicking her hands and sending both Sam and Dean flying into the wall to the immediate left of the gate. They struggled against her hold, but neither of them could break the Knight's bonds. "There. Just the two of us. Isn't this cozy?"

"How's the new suit? I miss you in red."

"I needed a costume change. The new outfit's much roomier. Plenty of space for all those damned souls I'm taking in," she replied with a thin smile. "Did you really think you could just run in here and take back your angel and your pet prophet, simple as that?"

"Apparently I thought right. In case it's escaped your notice, the amber alert's over. Kevin and Cas are safely tucked away far, far from here."

"At that château near Bordeaux, yes… I know all about that. In fact, I believe some of Xaphan's angels are there right now, attending to both Castiel and Kevin Tran."

"You're bluffing," Crowley accused. Because it couldn't be true. It _couldn't._ They couldn't have lost the only even remotely safe place left to them.

"Am I?" She grinned.

"Enough. You've made your very last mistake." Crowley held up the Stygian blade in his hand. "Letting Xaphan freeze over Hell and get his hands on these… awfully short-sighted of you, I must say. Not that I'm surprised."

"Stygian ice or not, you still can't stop me."

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that, darling."

"En garde, salesman," Abaddon challenged, eyes flashing black.

Crowley launched at her, and their respective swords met in a hail of sparks. She jabbed at his ribs, but he easily blocked the strike. He flicked his wrist, attempting to blow her backwards. Unfortunately it only created a few feet of distance between them.

"KICK HER ASS, CROWLEY!"

Oh Dean. Always so quick to offer a word of encouragement.

"Give it up," Abaddon hissed between bared teeth. "We both know you're not a match for me, let alone Xaphan. After all, what's a king to a god?" Abaddon taunted. Crowley swung his blade in a high arc in response, attempting to behead the Knight. Much to Crowley's dismay, Abaddon was able to deflect it before it landed.

"What's a god to a nonbeliever?" he countered. He slashed swiftly, and it was too fast for Abaddon to fully avoid it. The skin from her collar bone down to her chest was rent apart. Black smoke poured from the wound, and Abaddon let out a loud growl, equal parts anger and pain.

Crowley pressed his assault on Abaddon, and he landed a few more minor blows on the Knight, while receiving a few of his own. They were frustratingly evenly matched, and even with dirty tricks from the both of them, one wasn't able to gain the advantage over the other.

"Sorry, but this is getting old. It's high time we end this – or rather, I end you," Abaddon eventually said.

"And just how do you plan to do that?"

"By using the one weakness you have that I don't," she replied simply. She stretched out her hand and balled it into a fist. Crowley suddenly felt like someone had a vice grip around his heart, but it was more of a phantom sensation than a firsthand one. Like it was coming from…

Crowley heard Sam gasp behind him.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled.

_No._

Crowley whirled around, not caring that he was turning his back on Abaddon and leaving himself open for attack. Sam was spitting up blood, his eyes wrenched shut. The tight sensation inside of Crowley spread to his lungs. Blood coursed down Sam's chin. He made a gargling, whimpering noise. Something broken and small that sounded so wrong coming from Sam. Strong and unconquerable _Sam Winchester_.

_He's human. Have you forgotten so easily? Humans are bendable, breakable._

"Stop it," Crowley demanded thickly. "STOP IT!" He turned back to Abaddon, raising his sword to attack her again, to make her stop, because no one was allowed to lay a hand on Sam Winchester so long as he still drew breath. He wanted to flay her alive, to peel her skin off inch by inch-

Abaddon stopped him with a single finger pointed at Sam. Crowley's eyes started burning, and there was a kind of dull fire starting in his limbs. He heard Sam's body crash to the floor with an audible _smack_. Over his shoulder, Crowley could see Sam convulsing violently. Blood poured from his tear ducts, soaking his face.

"Move, and I'll double knot his intestines," Abaddon warned Crowley. "Drop your weapon."

 _"Don't do it!"_ Sam shouted in his head desperately. _"Don't give in to her!"_

"LET HIM GO, YOU EVIL SKANK!" Dean shouted, his harsh voice echoing with aching volume in the entrance hall.

Abaddon squeezed her hand tighter, and Sam cried out in agony.

_Just look what this boy's done to you. You'll do anything for him, won't you?_

Crowley dropped his Stygian blade to the floor with a clatter, answering his own question.

"Angel blade too," she commanded.

Crowley withdrew his angel blade from its sheath and relinquished that as well, throwing it to the ground and glaring at Abaddon all the while. He'd never wanted to see somene strapped down to a table in his entire long life. The demon in him was roaring for her blood. For the first time in memory, his humanity was fueling his inner darkness, rather than dampening it.

Whatever twisted, mindless devotion he had to Sam... it kept that flicker of a soul he had inside of him burning. But maybe it was keeping the demon in him alive as well. He'd wondered for awhile now, what to brand how he felt for Sam. Love seemed the easiest answer, but could love ever be painted in a shade so dark? No, he didn't think so.

But he'd been wrong before.

"Stop," Crowley repeated forcefully. "Do what you want to me, but leave him out of it. Leave them _both_ out of it."

"So the stories are true," Abaddon purred. "The epic love story of the King of Hell and Sam Winchester." The she-demon laughed loudly. "Now that's just… sad."

"What do you want from me?" Crowley growled.

"I want you dead," she replied without hesitation. "Sacrifice yourself, and I'll let Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum go. Not like they're much of a problem for me, anyway. Otherwise, you get to watch your lover bleed and flail until he dies. Then for good measure, I'll kill big brother, too. Nice and slow."

Her grin made him want to pull out her teeth one by one.

"Crowley!" Sam yelled out, his voice breaking, snapping like a dry twig halfway through his name. "DON'T!"

Crowley noticed that Dean didn't say anything. Of course not. Why would he willingly sacrifice Sam's life and his own just to, what, buy Crowley a few more minutes? He pursed his lips, glaring at Abaddon with every ounce of malice he had left in him.

For so long, the only thing that had mattered to Crowley was his own life. It was the most valuable thing in the world.

It was just as valuable now... in fact, the only thing valuable enough to possibly buy the Winchesters' prolonged survival, and with it, hope for the rest of humanity.

Because wasn't that what the two of them were, at the end of the day? Hope incarnate.

"Kill me, then," he said, words clear and crisp. Fearless. _What can there be beyond this that I haven't already seen?_ "But let them go first, or no deal."

Abaddon twirled her fingers. Sam screamed.

"What was that? No deal?"

Crowley shut his eyes tightly, throwing up walls between himself and Sam. He was selfish, he supposed. He didn't want to feel his pain.

Damn it. _Damn it._ Crowley should've known the blasted moose was going to be the death of him the second he set eyes on Sam. Sam Winchester was going to kill him, and it wasn't going to be with the Colt pressed to his forehead.

_A more tragic Romeo and Juliet. They'll write stories about us... the love that never was._

"Killing me isn't going to stop the angels, it's not going to win you the war, and most importantly of all, it's not going to stop the Winchesters… and as long as there are Winchesters on Earth, there's hope," Crowley said, measuring what could be his last words with care.

"Nice speech. Now say goodnight, Gracie. It's time to bow to your Queen."

_Wrong move, darling._

Abaddon lunged toward him, and he knew that she fully intended to drive her Stygian blade into his heart – and she expected him to stand still for it. To accept his execution with a valiant kind of grace, to sacrifice his life for the Winchesters without hesitation or resistance, like any good hero would. She expected him to act… _human._

Crowley vanished.

Abaddon's sword sailed through thin air. He reappeared behind her in the blink of an eye, summoning his Stygian blade back to his hand. He stabbed it into her back, severing her spine with the force of it and sliding it through her heart, just as she had done to Bobby moments before.

The tip of the blade poked out of her chest, colored crimson. Abaddon gasped.

"Just to reiterate," Crowley said into Abaddon's ear. "I am your _King_."

For good measure, he twisted.

Sam rolled onto his back, dragging in ragged breaths of relief as Abaddon's grip on him dissipated. Dean fell from the wall and crashed to the ground next to his brother, groaning at the collision when his head smacked hard against the stone. It only took Dean a few moments to regain his senses and scramble to his younger sibling's side, though.

Crowley tore his weapon from Abaddon, and she collapsed to the ground, blood steadily pooling around her. Under her skin, orange-red light flashed, different from how a normal demon's essence looked when they died. Of course it would be different. She was the highest of the damned, after all. Or rather, she was supposed to be.

No longer. No, today, Crowley would take his place as the strongest demon in the world. And before long, he would be on the throne again. This was the first step – the most important one. The death of the whore who had tried to take his kingdom from him.

He placed his heel on her throat and pressed hard, wanting to watch the life leave her eyes as she choked and spluttered on her own blood, her face twisted in pain. It was a delicious dual revenge – ending both Abaddon and Lailah in one fell blow.

"You should've learned from Lucifer's mistakes," Crowley snarled. "I. Always. Win."

It was Crowley that made a mistake in that moment, however. The very same mistake Abaddon had just made seconds ago – he had assumed that she would just die without a fight. She wrapped her hand around his ankle and jerked, sending him sprawling on the ground. Abaddon was upon him in a second. Her skin was growing paler by the second, and he could see past her vessel and into the smoke within, see it shriveling like a snail exposed to salt. She was seconds away from her demise.

But she had enough strength left in her to leave Crowley a parting gift.

She took her Stygian blade and slashed down with what little energy was left to her, ripping open Crowley's chest. Skin, muscle, blood veins, and bone were rent by the malignant and powerful sword. Crowley screamed, because it was excruciating on a level he had never before experienced. He felt grounded in his flesh, felt the pain so poignantly it was almost as if he was a human again. Mundane. Weak.

Dying.

Abaddon rolled off of him, collapsing to the ground with an air of finality. She was on her side, eyes threatening to drift shut. Blood leaked from her lips. His vision of her was tainted by black spots that were quickly taking over his vision. Sweet Hell, it was like someone was pouring acid into his chest cavity. There was so much blood – he could feel it soaking his suit, his hands that gripped the open wound in some pathetic attempt to stem the blood.

The blood kept coming. Was he still screaming? He couldn't tell anymore.

It hurt so badly. _Is this what death feels like?_ He wasn't sure.

Abaddon smiled at him, the bleach white of her teeth stark against the ruby red of her lips. Blood and bone. "S-see you in Hell, Crowley," she gasped out.

They were the last words she ever spoke.

Crowley watched as his mortal enemy died. He felt hands on his back, Winchester hands, felt them shaking him and calling his name, but he had no strength within him to respond. He watched Abaddon grow still and cold just as he felt his own skin turn icy and felt a slow and painful paralysis come upon him.

With what little will remained within him, he allowed his memories to spill into Sam's head – all of the new information on the third trial and the Man tablet he'd gleaned from Kevin's mind, not wanting the revelations to die with him.

Then, darkness swept over him like a wave. Crowley allowed it to take him away.

* * *

"NO!"

Sam was doubled over Crowley, who wasn't moving. The demon was still breathing, and his borrowed heart was still beating, but Sam didn't know how long that was going to last. Abaddon had slashed him open with a Stygian blade – meaning that he wouldn't be able to heal himself and he needed actual medical attention. But how? They had no way out of Ackergill, and the nearest town was miles away. Crowley would bleed out long before that.

"Crowley, come on. Don't do this to me." He grabbed the demon's face in his hands, but his eyes were firmly closed and his mouth hung open slightly. He was completely unconscious. "CROWLEY! Damn it!"

_Don't you dare do this to me. I can't lose you. You're a part of me._

He wanted to say it out loud, but he knew his words would fall on deaf ears. Crowley was fading, and fading fast.

"Sam, we gotta get out of here," Dean said, putting a hand on his shoulder. His voice was quiet. Mournful. _No._ Mourning was for the dead, and Crowley wasn't dead yet. He just shook his head, unable to respond.

"Well, well, well." The Winchesters lifted their heads. In front of the now open gates stood what appeared to be a fighting force of maybe fifty demons. The one in the lead was tall and tan, with thick black hair and heavy lidded brown eyes. His voice was deep and resonating. "Isn't this an interesting turn of events? We were told that we would be facing angels, but all I see here are two humans and a dead king."

"Yeah, well your bitch queen is dead too, asshole," Dean spat. Sam wanted to scream that Crowley wasn't dead, but the vehement declaration stalled and died in his throat, unable to escape. "You want to fight us? Go the hell ahead." Dean took out one of his demon bombs, holding it up so that they could see. "'Cause I got plenty of these, and _God_ , do I want a reason to use 'em."

"Abaddon may be dead, but that doesn't matter – Xaphan is still alive, and we serve him," the lead demon said. The group of demons, in one fluid movement, all drew their blades. "And his orders are to kill you."

Dean rose to his feet, his expression one of twisted rage. They'd lost Bobby again. Crowley was on death's door. His brother turned into a fierce animal when the people he cared about suffered. If anyone could take on a regiment of demons on his own, it was a pissed off Dean Winchester.

But he wasn't alone.

Sam patted Crowley's cheek. "Hang in there. Please," he managed to whisper. He then stood, drawing himself up to his full height. He pulled out Ruby's knife. He met Dean's eyes.

"Kick it in the ass?"

Sam nodded. "Kick it in the ass."

Dean lit the demon bomb and tossed it into the crowd of demons. It exploded, and several screams echoed in the entrance hall as the massive group of demons raced forward, forgetting their fallen comrades and raising their swords to strike at the Winchesters.

But something stopped them before they could reach Sam and Dean.

 _Angels._ Dozens of them. Before Sam could even register what was happening, someone was pulling him backwards, an angel he didn't recognize. One second, he was staring at the backs of the new force of angels, and the next he was in the courtyard of the château, breathing in the sweet and thick air that held the scent of grapes.

Dean was next to him. Crowley and Bobby were on the ground at their feet. There were two angels with them – Claire, and then a tall, blond angel with sharp cheek bones that he recognized as one of the guardians who typically watched over the château. He was fairly sure that his name was Gazardiel.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean demanded.

"I got help," Claire answered shortly. "What happened?"

"Abaddon's dead. Crowley needs help." Sam stooped down, scooping down and pulling Crowley's body into his arms. "We need to take him to a hospital."

Claire narrowed her eyes at him. "Weird… it's like his demon smoke's curled up and hiding, almost. He's buried really deep in his meat suit." She motioned for Sam to hand her Crowley. "I've got him."

"I'm going with you."

"No. You guys stay here. Castiel and Kevin need you." She frowned. "So does Bobby." Sam reluctantly parted with Crowley. Claire looked almost comical cradling him in her thin arms. Claire met the other angel's eyes. Sam blinked, and she was gone.

Dean was stooped down next to Bobby's body. "I am really fucking sick of having to say goodbye to you," he muttered, and Sam saw a sheen of tears in his brother's eyes. "I..." Dean gulped, laying his hand on Bobby's shoulder. "This wasn't supposed to happen again."

 _Damn right, this wasn't supposed to happen again,_ Sam thought to himself, and he couldn't take it. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on his feet, unable to look at Bobby.

"Something's not right," Gazardiel said.

"No kidding!" Dean growled.

"What is it?" Sam asked, glancing at the seemingly troubled angel.

Gazardiel frowned deeply. "There should be guards posted by the doors. Where are they?"

"Abaddon said that Xaphan sent angels here," Sam said suddenly, remembering what the Knight had said before Crowley had killed her. _Oh no._ "We have to get to Cas and Kevin."

Dean and Sam were up in seconds, rushing through the front doors of the château, Gazardiel tailing behind them. He didn't know where Crowley had put Kevin, but Sam suspected that he had likely deposited Cas in Dean's room. They raced up the stairs and hung a left. He and Dean were both going to the same place.

When they reached the hall that held Dean's room, they heard sounds of a struggle. They sprinted the remaining distance to Dean's room. Sam kicked in the door, not even bothering to see if it was unlocked or not.

It was quite a sight inside. Cas was on the ground, another angel over top of him, struggling to drive an angel blade into his throat. Sam recognized the angel as one of the ones who typically guarded the château – great. So there had been another wave of defections. Cas was struggling valiantly, but he definitely appeared to be losing the battle to keep the blade away from his throat in his weakened, battered state.

Nearby, Charlie was trying to fend off another angel. Dean's bedside table was in pieces, and the largest one was in Charlie's hand, as she appeared to be using it as a kind of makeshift shield. In her other hand she held her angel blade, and she was dueling with the angel. Her injured leg caused her to stumble and falter when she moved, and she was sweating profusely, looking as though she was about to collapse.

Dean had his angel blade through the skull of the angel that was straddling Cas in a heartbeat. Just a few seconds later, Sam had slit the throat of the one battling Charlie.

"Oh, thank God," Charlie said, dropping to her knees. "Or whatever relevant diety is responsible for us not being dead." She sucked in a deep breath. "Um, fun fact: more angels have gone over to the dark side."

"Yeah, we kind of figured that one out for ourselves," Dean said, going to Cas. "Hey, you okay?"

"I was not in the position to put up much of a fight," Cas said weakly as Dean helped him to his feet. "It is a lucky thing that Charlie arrived when she did."

"I don't really know if lucky is the word to use to describe anything that's happened in the past few hours," Charlie said. Sam didn't even try to help Charlie to stand, instead picking up her up and cradling her in his arms, knowing that putting anymore weight on her leg was a bad idea. "Where's Crowley?"

"With Claire," Sam replied tightly. "He's hurt."

"How bad?"

"Bad," Dean and Sam chorused.

"What about Bobby?" Charlie asked.

The Winchesters fell silent. Cas's eyes widened. "Has something happened to him?"

Dean pursed his lips. "He's dead," he said shortly. "The bitch killed him."

Cas's expression turned to one of profound sadness. "I..." He seemed at a loss. That made two of them. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

"You can have your time to mourn later," Gazardiel said in a clipped tone from where he stood by the door. "Where is the prophet? There may be more angels of Xaphan's in the château besides these two."

"I only had time to check on Cas, I don't know where Kevin is – or if he's okay."

"We'll spread out and find him. Make sure he's alright," Sam said. He looked to the angels. "Do you have someplace safe you can take Cas and Charlie?"

"I don't know if any place is safe any longer," Gazardiel admitted. "We can take them to one of our more reclusive bases. We will guard them closely."

Cas went to move towards Gazardiel, but Dean halted him. "Cas, we can't trust these bastards. We don't know who's working with Xaphan and who isn't."

"Gazardiel and I fought together, Dean. He was one of my bravest soldiers when we battled Raphael. He serves the Heavenly Host – he would never defect to the other side," Castiel said. Dean hesitated for a long moment, but eventually he relented, allowing Cas to hobble towards Gazardiel.

Dean and Sam made eye contact. Sam brought Charlie to Gazardiel. "We'll meet up with you soon," he promised her.

"You better," Charlie responded, not even a hint of lightness in her tone. "Put me down."

He set her gently on her feet, and Charlie stood on one leg. Gazardiel put a hand on one of her shoulders, and the other on Cas's. A moment later, they were gone.

Sam and Dean wasted no time. They exited the room, moving quickly, throwing open every door to every room they passed, hoping to find Kevin inside somewhere. When they reached Sam's room, they both instinctually knew something was wrong.

The door was already open. There was no sound coming from within. They peered inside. There was a still form on the bed. Dean flicked on the light.

Kevin was motionless on Sam's rumpled bed, his eyes closed and his skin gray. There were three bloody stab wounds in his abdomen.

Kevin Tran was dead.


	70. Lest We Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the old King isn't dead just yet, and Team Free Will mourns.

_Bloody or sad._

That's what was ringing through Dean's head. The only thing.

Soon after they found Kevin, a group of angels arrived to take them to an abandoned monastery in Prague. It was one of the only safe-houses left to the good angels that had the chance of not being compromised after the last round of defections.

It was idyllic, quiet, and peaceful.

Dean fucking hated it.

It felt like defeat. It felt like they were hiding, and after losing both Bobby and Kevin, it was the last thing he wanted.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to rip out the wings of every angel that had switched sides (yeah, their wings were already burnt to a crisp, but he'd figure out something) and he wanted to take the battle straight to Xaphan.

Sam tried to calm him down with statements like, "We'll fight, Dean, we just have to wait for the right moment," and "We know how to finish the trials now, it's just a matter of time before we end this for good."

Except that Kevin never uncovered how precisely the trials ended, and the third trial was something even more impossible than the first two that preceded it.

Kill an archangel.

Sam said, "It's alright. Xaphan's sucking down enough souls from Hell to be as powerful as one, so maybe he'll count. Maybe he'll be enough."

But they had no way to kill Xaphan, and if Xaphan didn't count as a full arch, they would have no choice but to kill Gabriel, who they also had no way to take down.

And Sam told him, "We'll figure something out, Dean."

Dean found that Sam was the only thing currently keeping him standing, because he was rapidly approaching a state of being _really fucking done_.

Cas was asleep in a small room in the monk's quarters when they arrived. Cas was always a heavy sleeper, so it didn't surprise Dean that he didn't wake when he walked in, but with how peaceful he seemed... he suspected Gazardiel, the angel who had taken Cas and Charlie away from the chateau, had put Cas into an angel-induced slumber.

He tried to find Charlie, but was informed that she had been taken to a hospital to get her leg dealt with, as it was a wound she earned from a Stygian blade and couldn't be healed by angelic means.

So Dean and Sam waited. Waited to find out if Crowley was going to survive his injuries. Waited to be told what would happen next. Waited to find out if Xaphan's army already had the Man Tablet, already had the next prophet, already had the very thing that would destroy everything.

Sam explained the true nature of the Man Tablet to him, another gift from Crowley before the demon had passed out: it would break down the barriers between Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and Earth. All four planes of existence, all bleeding into each other... chaos and death on an unimaginable level.

He'd had enough death for one lifetime.

There was thunder and lightning outside, but no rain. Prophet omens. Dean had nothing but sympathy for whoever was chosen to succeed Kevin.

Anthriel eventually arrived. He expected to be read the riot act, but she seemed too exhausted and worried to bitch them out. Sam relayed all of the information Crowley had given him before he'd lost consciousness.

Anthriel merely nodded and said they would seek out a weapon that would be able to eliminate Xaphan, and that she would dispatch the lion's share of their forces to Jerusalem to search for the last of the tablets.

She left.

They were alone again.

They didn't speak, because what was there to say?

When Claire finally arrived hours later, Sam jumped off of the ancient pew the two of them had been sitting on in a heartbeat. Dean was burying himself in the age-old communion wine he'd found in a cabinet in an anteroom behind the sanctuary. He hated wine with a passion, it tasted like shitty grape juice, but he would've drank rubbing alcohol at that point. Anything to get some degree of numbness.

"Is he alive?" Sam asked, and Dean could hear that tiny break in Sam's voice that no one but him would notice.

Sam was dying on the inside, waiting to know if Crowley had made it or not.

"He just got out of surgery," Claire provided. "He lost a lot of blood, and the gash, it looks really bad... but they say he's gonna make it."

Dean watched the weight of a thousand worlds lift off of Sam's shoulders. His brother took a deep breath and carded two hands through his hair, eyes falling closed.

"Wow, are you gonna cry?" Claire asked, tilting her head. "Should I give you a second?"

Another deep breath. Sam's eyes opened. "No, no. I'm fine. When can we bring him here?"

"Set up a room for him. As soon as I get the meds he needs from the doctors, I'm getting him out of there," Claire said.

"Is he still unconcious?" Sam inquired. "Can I talk to him?"

"Hold up, cowboy. He's still out. They have him on really heavy duty painkillers. He'll probably be asleep for awhile," Claire said.

Sam nodded. "Right, right... he's alive, that's what matters. We'll have a room ready for him when you get back."

After that, Claire disappeared. Sam met Dean's eyes, and Dean finished off another bottle of dusty wine that felt heavy on his tongue. "Can I ask you somethin'?" Dean asked.

"What is it?"

"You in love with that little bastard?" If he wasn't drunk, it wasn't something that would've come out of his mouth.

Sam just stared at him. "Are you being serious right now?"

He tossed the bottle to the side. Instead of breaking as he hoped, it just rolled. "I'm always serious."

Sam continued to stare.

And then he turned and left the sanctuary, heavy footsteps echoing in the emptiness.

Dean went to find another bottle.

* * *

_"What's gone wrong?"_

_"She's... Fergus, Rosie's dead. I'm so sorry."_

_"What do you mean, Rosie's dead?"_

_"You knew this was going to happen eventually, with the way he-"_

_"He did it? The bastard killed her?"_

_"Fergus-"_

_"I'm going over there."_

_"Fergus, there's nothing-"_

_"I'm going over there, Vida, and I'm going to kill him."_

_A hand launched out to grab him. "Don't be a fool, he could kill you!"_

_"LET HIM TRY!" he screamed. "I'll tear his fucking heart out!"_

Out of the murk of memories long-forgotten, Crowley slowly returned to the waking world.

The first thing he became aware of was the excruciating burning in his chest that made him want to scratch his skin off. It seemed almost like someone was pouring acid on him, and he felt the agony down to his very essence. His smoke form was writhing, twisting, trying to pull away from the pain. He groaned as he came to, just wanting it to _stop._

"Crowley? Hey, Crowley." Someone was shaking him. Large hands. Moose. For some reason, that singular thought calmed him. Sam was with him. Sam, who he'd thought he had laid eyes on for the very last time in Ackergill.

_Miracles,_ he mused, _and their strange ways._

That time, Crowley made a growling sound that he hoped communicated that he didn't want to open his eyes. Or move. Or exist in general. He wanted to see Sam... but everything hurt.

_"I know you're up, jackass,"_ Sam chimed in his head.

Reluctantly, Crowley opened his eyes. His vision was blurry, and he blinked rapidly to clear it. Sam was leaning over him. The creases in Sam's forehead and the downward turn of the hunter's mouth told Crowley that whatever his current condition was, he must've looked bloody terrible.

"Am I in Heaven?" Crowley joked weakly, a hint of a smile curving his lips. Sam Winchester, worrying over his sickbed. What a lovely sight to wake up to.

"Funny. You're lucky to be alive," Sam told him. "If you weren't already laid up, I'd kick your ass for what you did back there."

"Careful, love. You're starting to sound like your brother." Crowley tried to sit up, but the wound on his chest screamed in protest. He gasped in pain, falling flat on his back, eyes burning.

"Hey, hey, take it easy," Sam said gently, putting his hand on Crowley's bare shoulder. He was devoid of a shirt, dressed only in his suit pants and socks. "You're in bad shape."

"How long have I been out?"

"It's been about..." Sam checked his watch. "Sixteen hours."

"How am I still breathing?"

"A huge group of demons showed up right after you went down fighting Abaddon. Thing is, Claire called in the cavalry, and the angels swooped in and dealt with them. We were taken back to the chateau, and I gave you to Claire and told her to bring you to a hospital. The doctors there stitched you up before you could bleed out. The Stygian blade didn't go through any of your organs, just skin and muscle, so after a few weeks, you should be okay."

"Oh, I expect it'll be longer than that. Nasty piece of work, those Stygian blades," Crowley rasped, wincing again the pain. "Is the whore dead?"

"Abaddon's dead," Sam confirmed.

"Thank Hell for that much."

Crowley closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. He couldn't help but feel a sense of vindication. Abaddon's biggest mistake, above all, was underestimating him. That was always the grave error his enemies made. Always give credit where credit was due. Abaddon had stood against him, and now she was a mangled corpse, just like all those before her and all those that would inevitably come after her.

He was the King for a reason.

"Are the angels in Jerusalem?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "They're in the city. I don't know much more than that right now."

"Mmm. Have you told them the third trial?"

Sam frowned. "Yeah. Kill an archangel. Needless to say, they weren't happy to hear that."

"Neither was I, but that was the last thing Kevin managed to dig off the Angel Tablet before he was taken." Crowley shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable. "How many angels defected in the last wave?"

"About three dozen. Not many. But a lot of the ones who switched sides were angels stationed in and around Bordeaux."

"Kevin and Cas?"

"Cas is fine. We got there before they managed to kidnap him again."

Crowley met Sam's eyes, and the hunter's walls faltered. Sorrow poured over their link. Mourning, guilt, and regret. And worst of all, a single mental image of Kevin lying still on Sam's bed in the château. There were three bloody stab wounds in his abdomen.

"No," Crowley breathed out.

"We were too late to save him." Sam pursed his lips, and Crowley thought he saw a gleam of tears in his eyes. "I don't know why they killed Kevin instead of just taking him again."

"Because they knew that he wouldn't translate the tablet for them," Crowley said in a monotone, surprised by the loss he felt. "They could penetrate his mind, but even a demon possessing a prophet can't read the tablets. They know everything that Kevin knew… but Kevin didn't know everything."

"He didn't know how the trials will end."

Crowley inclined his head. "What happens when the third trial is complete," he affirmed. "Or rather, what happens to the trial taker." Crowley sighed heavily. "No, what they really need a prophet for is when they have the Man Tablet in hand. They need someone to translate the spell that will send the universe to its knees."

"The angels have been all over the globe, searching for the new prophet. There've been massive thunder storms all over the world since… since it happened. The worst of it's been in America, so that's where Anthriel's scouts are focused on."

"And Xaphan's as well, I'm sure."

"Yeah." Sam looked away. "Dean's getting ready to, you know, send Bobby and Kevin off. Claire brought their bodies back for us. Do you think you can walk, or…?"

"Not sure," Crowley replied. "A little personal space, Moose?"

"Sorry," Sam apologized, backing away from Crowley's bedside. Crowley slowly shifted into a sitting position. The pain in his rent open chest was bordering on mind-blowing, but he wasn't about to let it stop him. He could've prevented Kevin and Bobby's deaths. He at least owed it to them to be present at their funerals.

With effort, Crowley put his feet on the stone floor and rose. His legs threatened to give out from under him, and the room spun around him, making his stomach turn. He nearly collapsed, but two large steadying hands on his shoulders kept him upright.

"Nothing like near fatal blood loss to get your engine running," Crowley groaned.

"Uh... do you want me to carry you, maybe?"

Crowley simply raised his eyebrows. "I'd sooner crawl," he said flatly.

Sam snorted. "Pride goeth before the fall... literally."

"At least I've a significantly shorter way down than you do, Moose," Crowley retorted.

For the first time since waking up, he took in his surroundings. Brown stone walls and high slanted stained glass windows greeted him. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting multicolored shafts of light on the grimy floor. Like dirty rainbows.

"Where are we?" Crowley asked.

"We're at an abandoned monastery in Prague," Sam provided.

Crowley grimaced. "Explains why I feel like I'm about ready to crawl out of my skin. Holy ground? _Really_?"

"Well, the angels didn't want to stay in Bordeaux after it was compromised. They had to use one of their backup safe houses for us, one of the few that most of the other angels don't know about. Anthriel doesn't know who's loyal and who's working for the other side, so we had to go some place kind of off the map."

"The feather brains managed to make a decent tactical decision? Shock and disbelief."

"They have their moments. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." Crowley took a few hesitant steps forwards, Sam's steadying hand on his shoulder all the while. He sniffed the air. He smelled wood smoke. Dean must have already started the fire. "We're on the first floor, I hope?" Crowley asked through gritted teeth. He'd never felt so weak in his life.

"Yeah."

With Sam making sure he didn't collapse, they slowly made their way out of Crowley's plain room and into a large sanctuary that had probably been grand and extravagant, once upon a time. A gilded pulpit turned brown and gray with age was covered with threadbare red cloth. Behind it was an enormous brass crucifix, complete with Christ suspended by his hands and feet, the crown of thorns resting upon his head.

There were rows and rows of neat pews, covered in a thick layer of dust. No one had sat in them in decades, he was sure. A place of God, forgotten and left to rot, most likely condemned if the rotting floorboards and general state of disrepair was any indication. Still, even though it was abandoned, it was still hallowed ground. Combined with the poisoned wound on his chest and shoulder, it made his essence feel like it was on fire. He was half expecting smoke to start roiling off of him.

They made it to the front doors, where two angels stood. They nodded at Sam, but coolly disregarded Crowley. He didn't expect anything less, though at least they had the common courtesy to open the doors for them. Once outside, Crowley could see that it was sunset – the hazy orange sun was tracking towards the horizon, about to meet the hills in the distance. They must have been in the outer lying regions of Prague, as he only saw a few scattered homes in the distance, large estates with classic Czech architecture.

Dean stood alone off to the side of the monastery, near what Crowley assumed was once a horse stable. The older Winchester was silhouetted against the setting sun, his hands jammed in the pockets of his coat, his eyes focused on the two separate wood piles in front of him. Both were smoking lightly with the beginnings of a fire. He said nothing as Crowley and Sam approached. Crowley pushed Sam away from him, determined to walk the last several feet himself.

Crowley stood to Dean's left, Sam to his right. They watched as the small fires Dean had lit met with the gasoline he had poured over the neatly constructed wood piles. They burst into flames almost simultaneously, each pyre going up like a bonfire. Bobby and Kevin's bodies were quickly hidden from sight. Smoke poured from the piles, forcing the three of them to avert their eyes.

"Should we say something?" Sam asked quietly.

"What's there to say?" Dean asked dimly. Crowley cast him a sideways glance. There were tears in the hunter's eyes, and several trailed down his cheek. He showed no embarrassment, and Crowley understood why – if ever there was a time for waterworks, it was now. "We fucked up."

"Blaming yourself won't bring them back," Crowley told him.

"I know." Dean blinked. More tears. He could tell that Sam was in a similar state from the crushing pain Crowley felt over their connection. Crowley was forced to throw up his walls in order to keep himself from falling apart due to the secondhand effects of Sam's emotions.

"Maybe when we open up Heaven we can find a way to bring them back," Sam offered as the scent in the air changed from one of burning wood to burning flesh. Crowley was used to the scent – after all, that was one of the most distinct odors present in the Pit – but both of the Winchesters looked sickened by it, taking several steps backwards with grimaces on their face.

"Maybe." Dean didn't seem convinced. "Bobby… it's so fucked up... I'm almost _used_ to seeing him die. Can you believe that?" The hunter seemed sick to his stomach. "And Kevin…" Dean shook his head. "He was our responsibility. We ruined his damn life, got everyone he loved killed, pulled him away from everything he knew and made him a part of…" Dean gestured around them, looking disgusted. " _This._ "

"Technically I was the one who killed everyone he loved and ruined his life," Crowley pointed out, if only to relieve a small portion of the hunter's guilt. "He would've been dead a long time ago without the two of you."

"He wouldn't be dead at all if he had never met us," Dean insisted. "He'd – he'd be at Princeton right now, with his girlfriend, getting care packages from his mom and just being a normal, overachieving kid."

"He wanted to be the first Asian American president of the United States," Sam remembered. "He would've been a good one."

Dean sat down hard on the ground, his arms resting on his knees. Sam sank down next to him. Crowley remained standing, watching the flames and trying to think past the fog of pain that plagued him.

Things were bad. That was a statement that could fit their set of circumstances at basically any time – with the Winchesters, the human race, the angels, the demons – everything was always bad, all of the time. It wasn't a functional universe, by any means. Perhaps that's why God had constructed it with a self-destruct switch in the form of the Man Tablet. Still, as far as bad situations went, their current situation was by far the worst Crowley had ever seen.

No prophet. No lead on where in Jerusalem the Man Tablet might be. Barely an army to speak of. Mountains of dead bodies on their hands. The world was falling apart at the seams and the opposition wanted nothing more than to pull the remaining stitches apart, and even though Abaddon was now dead, Xaphan still had control of Hell and the souls within it – not to mention all of the demons, as well.

They were doomed.

That didn't mean they wouldn't try, though. Because that's what the Winchesters did. They _tried._ Even when everything was hopeless and the world was surely going to burn down in flames, they tried.

It was mad. Certifiably so... but if anyone had a chance of stopping the end of Everything, it was Dean, Sam, and Castiel. With his help, of course. He didn't know how the three of them had managed before he came along.

"Where are the others?" Crowley asked when the sun disappeared behind the rolling hillocks that surrounded the monastery, leaving them in a blue-gray semidarkness. Bats flew out from the monastery's belfry, the flap of their wings one of the only sounds other than the snapping and popping of the burning wood.

"Charlie's in a hospital in Prague, getting her leg looked at. Claire's with Anthriel. Cas is asleep," Dean provided. "He's out cold. I couldn't get him up for love or money. I think one of the angels knocked him out."

Crowley watched the Winchesters, feeling the heat of the fire on his face and chest. He'd never seen two people look so lost.

He realized that perhaps he should return to the inside of the monastery – the Winchesters seemed on the verge of a boy melodrama moment, and he would rather not be present for it. He'd paid his respects to Kevin and Bobby. With the aching in his chest and the general feeling of exhaustion and pain in the rest of him, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

He wasn't sure what to say to them in parting. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment's consideration. "For all of this."

Dean looked up at him. For a mortal... he just looked so old. So tired. "For once… it ain't your fault."

"Yes. Well… still."

"Do you want me to help you back to your room?" Sam inquired. Crowley shook his head.

"Sweet of you to offer, Moose, but I think I can manage the thirty feet back to my sickbed on my own."

With that, Crowley departed, leaving the Winchesters alone.

* * *

"I'm getting really sick of this," Sam said quietly as the fires began to die down. The bodies wouldn't be completely destroyed, of course, but they were at least incinerated enough to the point that Bobby and Kevin's spirits weren't likely to come back and haunt them.

"Me too," Dean replied. He looked at his brother. "When the hell is it all gonna end, Sam?"

"Probably a lot sooner than we want it to."

"I don't mean the world. I mean _this_. You and me losing everyone, over and over and over again. It's bullshit. Our _lives_ are _bullshit_."

"They're the only lives we've got."

"What if they're not?" Dean asked. "You… you said a few months ago, that you wanted to get the hunters to go legit. To make this gig not so fucking dark. Training people, networking, giving out assignments, keeping people from getting killed left and right."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"I want that so damn bad, Sammy. You have no idea how bad I want that... because I can't take this anymore. Apocalypse after apocalypse, dead friend after dead friend. I can take a lot, man, but I'm-" Dean's voice broke, and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to control his emotions so he didn't start crying again. "I'm just human. And I can't deal with it any longer."

"Dean, we've seen a lot of death. I know it's hard, but we save people. We've even saved the world a few times. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"

"No matter how many people we save, it ain't ever gonna make up for all the people we've gotten killed." Dean stared into the dwindling flames, feeling like something inside of him had fizzled out since they lost Kevin and Bobby. Like he was missing some important screw in his makeup, and now he wasn't put together right.

"Is this you saying that you want to give up hunting?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean was quiet for a long time before he was able to respond to his brother's question. "I don't know what the hell I want anymore. I want my family safe. I want the world to make sense and the war to stop. I want my fucking car and our fucking house back." He ran a hand over his face, shivering against the evening wind that blew through the hills on the outskirts of Prague. "I'm really starting to miss how things were before."

"Before?"

"Before all of this Heaven and Hell shit. Before the apocalypse. Before demons and angels." Okay, maybe not one angel – but he really could have done without the rest of them. "It used to just be me and you, on the road. We knew who the monsters were, and we killed them. Now… half the time..." Dean shook his head. "I feel like we're the monsters."

His brother didn't respond. He didn't know whether it was because Sam couldn't come up with an argument, or because he privately agreed with Dean.

"Something has to change," Sam agreed. "We'll figure it out. Right now, we just need to focus on what's right in front of us."

"And what exactly is in front of us? The end of the fucking world. How are we supposed to stop this? We've got no prophet, no way to kill Xaphan, nothing!"

"We didn't have any way to stop Lucifer, and we managed to take him out."

"Bad example, considering that it ended with you getting locked in the Cage with the devil as your bunk mate for a year and a half."

"We still did it, though. We stopped Lucifer, Eve, Raphael, Dick, Crowley – sort of, anyway – and now we helped stop Abaddon, too. Look, Dean, we're the good guys. You need to remember that. That's why we walk away from all of these insane fights intact, more or less. Regardless of how often we screw up, which I'm not denying that we do all the time, we're still a positive force in the universe. You have to keep believing that."

"And what if I don't?" Dean glanced up at Sam, and his brother was giving him that look – that look that made Dean feel like the little brother. He didn't appreciate the role reversal. He was supposed to take care of Sam, not the other way around… but Sam always had that _caring_ thing of his, that bleeding heart. It was one of the things that helped balance the two of them out.

"What, do you just want to give up? To lie down and die?"

"You want the truth?" Dean pursed his lips. "A part of me just wants to take you and the others and get the hell out. Fuck off somewhere and hide, let the universe sort out its own problems for once."

"It doesn't work like that, Dean."

"Well it should!" he yelled, forcing himself to his feet. "Someone should care other than us about this goddamn planet! Why does it always have to fall on us, huh? Why do WE have to make the sacrifices!? Sam, seriously – who the hell decided it was a good idea to make US the heroes of this story!?"

"Dean-"

"Was it God? Because if it was, God's a fucking idiot." Dean turned his eyes to the sky. "YOU HEAR ME, YOU BASTARD? FUCK YOU!"

Sam was up now, and his hands were on Dean's shoulders, turning him around. "This isn't going to accomplish anything, okay? We've been taking a lot of hits lately, and it sucks, and I hate it, but whether we like it or not, we have to deal with this."

"Who says we have to?"

"We do. _I_ do. Maybe this shouldn't be our responsibility – maybe, in the grand scheme of things, it isn't. But someone has to step up, and I say that someone's gotta be us. You, me, Cas, Crowley, the others… if anyone can stop Xaphan, it's us."

Dean still wanted nothing more than to tell the world and all of its problems to go screw itself, but he knew that Sam was right. He found something in Sam's eyes that allowed him to ground himself. He was sick of fighting for the greater good, for the 'right thing', because it seemed like it inevitably ended in the people he cared about getting killed.

But for Sam, he would try to save the world… no matter the cost.


	71. Broken Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the F word is dropped, and Crowley and Dean are awkward besties.

When Dean arrived back inside, feeling chilled down to his own bones and smelling of charred death, Cas was awake. Awake, and staring at the ceiling, like it held some hidden answer he had been searching for. He didn't even seem to notice Dean enter.

Dean cleared his throat. Cas looked up. His eyes were bright and alert, and that much was a comfort. The ex-angel appeared pale and sickly, and the clean white bandages covering his chest matched the shade of his skin. In spite of that, though, Cas's demeanor held a life to it. Hell, he practically _radiated_ it.

Small wonders, small favors, small blessings. Cas was still breathing. That much straightened Dean's spine and kept his legs steady. Things could always be worse.

They could've lost Cas.

_He_ could've lost Cas.

"You already burned him, didn't you?" Cas asked softly. "I can smell the..." He trailed off. There was really no need to complete the sentence.

"Yeah," Dean answered stiffly. "Hunter's funeral."

They were both silent for a moment, in the semi-darkness. Only the faint light of the moon illuminated the room. With a long exhale, Dean went to light the oil lamp at Cas's bedside. The ex-angel's eyes followed him all the way, and Dean felt like two holes were being burned into his skin.

"Can you stop that?" he asked, harsher than he meant to.

"Stop what?" Cas asked, tilting his head in honest confusion. Dean grimaced, chastising himself. It was Cas; Cas always stared. It came with the package.

"Just... never mind." He lit the lamp, flooding the room with a deep yellow light. He pushed a hand through his hair. "Sorry in advance if I act like a dick... been a hell of a bad day."

"Dean... I am so sorry for what happened to Bobby. He was a good man. He didn't deserve to die."

And that's when Dean realized that Cas didn't even know Kevin was dead. He rose to his full height, searching for the words as Cas looked up at him, brow furrowed in worry. After a moment, Dean sat down hard on the double bed, Cas mere inches from him. The former angel pushed himself into a sitting position with a sound of effort.

"There's something else, isn't there?" A voice that deep and rough had no right to be so gentle.

"There's _always_ something else," Dean whispered. "Kevin..." Words failed him.

"The angels in the chateau..."

"Yeah. The ones who went turncoat, they- they killed him." Thunder rumbled lowly outside, as if punctuating the point. The weather was a constant reminder of what they'd lost. "Kid was cold by the time we got to him. We weren't fast enough."

A hand on his shoulder. A slight shock ran through Dean at the contact, causing the hair to rise on his arms and neck. He inhaled sharply. There was always that faint fear when Cas touched him that the ex-angel would accidentally electrocute him. He'd already been zapped into a heart attack before. He didn't much want to repeat the experience, if he could avoid it.

Still, it was comforting, in its own way.

"You had no control over this," Cas told him, and he heard the sorrow in his tone. Cas and Kevin hadn't exactly been the picture of closeness, but over the months of living together, they had become friends nonetheless. Cas would no doubt feel the loss, just like Dean and Sam did.

"That's a damn lie and you know it," he responded, frustrated. "We had control over all of this. Over you and Kevin getting taken, over the rescue, over protecting you..." Dean bent his head. "You know what, can we just not talk about this?"

Dean could already see where their conversation was going. Dean would blame himself, Cas would tell it wasn't his fault, and then Dean would probably start crying like a little girl again, most likely. There was no point to it. It wouldn't change how he felt. Kevin's blood - and Bobby's as well, really - that was on him. His hands.

"What would you like to talk about?"

"Anything," he muttered. "You. How are you feeling?" He looked over his shoulder at Cas. His eyes held nothing but compassion, a sentiment that made Dean feel warm and sick at the same time. Sometimes Dean half-missed the stone-cold angel he'd met in Hell, who wouldn't be capable of showing him sympathy.

Cas didn't know that Dean remembered being pulled out of Hell. Dean had no intention of ever telling him. It was a nightmare that resurfaced years after his resurrection. Sometimes, late at night, Dean thought he could still hear Cas shouting in his true voice, declaring, _"Dean Winchester is saved."_

"I feel... my injuries are painful. Truthfully though, I'm just grateful to be alive."

"That makes two of us," Dean agreed. Cas's hand was still on his shoulder. Dean drummed his fingers on his knees. "I... you hungry?"

"Starving to the point of dry heaving, actually," Cas told him with a frown. "I didn't eat while at Ackergill. I was periodically given water, but no food."

"You haven't eaten in a week?" Dean exclaimed. "Shit, man. That's just fucking... there's something in the Geneva convention against that, I'm positive."

"I don't believe that applies to demons, Dean."

"Still. I'll go find you food. There's a kitchen here the angels stocked for us. Not much going on, but I'll see what I can scrounge up."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He was grateful to have something to do, to be able to tangibly fix an issue, even if it was just Cas's desperately hungry stomach. "Back in a sec."

Halfway to the monastery's small kitchen, he ran into Claire.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Hey," she echoed back. "You look like crap."

"Wow. You're a charmer." A thought hit him. "You wanna do me a favor?"

"That depends on what it is."

"I need you to go to Olive Garden for me."

* * *

A half an hour later, Dean was carrying in armfuls of white styrofoam boxes, while Claire walked behind him with utensils and a two liter of cola and a plastic cup.

"We got you food," Dean said, carefully setting down the array of containers on Cas's bed. The smell alone seemed to intoxicate the starved man. "Lots of it. Couldn't get any of the soup for obvious reasons, but I figure the rest will-"

" _Thank you_ ," Cas practically groaned out, taking a fork from Claire and opening the first box in front of him. Tiramisu. Cas didn't seem to have any trouble starting with dessert. It was blatantly evident in the way he ate that he hadn't seen food in a long time.

Cas made pleased noises while he ate, and for the first time all day, Dean smiled.

"You're enjoying that a little too much," Claire commented. "I have to go. Charlie's done at the hospital and needs an angel taxi."

"Hold up, kid," Dean said.

Claire raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not a kid. And what? Do you want me to pick up a pizza for you, too?" she asked, not without her typical sarcasm.

"No, just wanted to ask... is Anthriel pissed at you?"

"Yeah. Or at least, I think she is. She told me what I did was 'foolish', but she hasn't really broken out a lecture yet. She's just kept me running around all day. I think she's giving me all the little stuff to do since she can't really put me on the battle field."

"You fought pretty damn well at Ackergill."

"According to her, that's nothing compared to what's going on in the rest of the world."

Dean nodded. He had been worried that as punishment for disobeying Anthriel's orders and helping them with their late night infiltration of Ackergill, she might stick Claire on the front lines somewhere, in a position that would be bound to get the new angel killed.

The last thing he wanted was another death on his hands, on his conscience. They'd collectively taken enough away from Claire; she didn't need to lose her life, too.

"I'm glad she's keeping you out of it."

"The concern's touching." He couldn't tell whether she was being serious or not. _Teenagers._ "I'll see you guys later," she added.

She vanished, leaving him alone with Cas, who had already wolfed down his dessert and was now tearing into a breadstick.

"If you don't slow down, you're gonna get sick. Especially since you haven't eaten in so long."

Cas looked reticent to stop, but nevertheless he set down the breadstick, seeming to be exercising visible restraint. Dean sat down next to Cas again, back resting against the headboard.

Crickets chirped outside. The monastery was otherwise silent.

"Dean?" Cas was looking at him. Dean met his eyes.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"...Will you sleep with me, tonight?"

Dean huffed out a ghost of a laugh. "Bad phrasing, man. But yeah. Yeah, I will." _There's no way I'm leaving you alone. Not if I can help it._

A part of him, a scared, irrational section of his heart typically reserved for neurotic, obsessive concern over his brother felt that if he were to leave Cas on his own, when he returned, he would be gone. Taken, again.

Dean was never letting anyone take Cas from him again. Not happening.

"I missed you, Cas," Dean said, surprising both himself and the angel.

"I was only gone for a week."

_Seemed like a fucking year to me._ "Yeah. Well."

Cas shifted slightly, just enough so that their shoulders were brushing. Little sparks ran down Dean's arm. His fingers curled into the bed spread.

"I missed you," Cas responded at length, the statement thick with sincerity. "The... the idea that I would never see you again, or that what Daityas said was true, that both you and Sam were already dead..." Cas's next inhale was a shaky inhale. "I have never felt fear like that before."

For Castiel to say that - especially considering the terrifying, horrific things he'd been through in his infinitely long life - it meant something to Dean.

"You don't have to be scared now," Dean said, resolve in his voice. "I got you, man." On impulse, he put his hand over Cas's, his usual inhibitions seeming to have been melted over the past week. "You hear me? If I have any say at all, you're making it through this."

After a moment, Cas turned his hand over and gripped Dean's back. "I believe you," the ex-angel affirmed. "But Dean... please make sure that you make it through this as well."

Dean wished he could have made that promise.

* * *

Cas passed out after he'd finished his sizable dinner, seeming sated and exhausted. Dean tried to do the same, tried to time his own breathing with his friend's, tried to do anything to lull himself to sleep.

He couldn't do it.

Maybe he was just too wired – he couldn't shake the feeling that the monastery was going to be attacked any minute. That, among many other troubling thoughts, seemed to be forcing his eyelids to stay open.

Eventually, he resigned himself to sitting at Cas's bed side, watching the angel sleep in true creeper fashion. It's not like he had anywhere else to be. Everyone else was asleep. Claire had brought Charlie back, but like Crowley, she was unconcious in her post-surgery painkiller haze. Even Crowley himself was asleep, his meat suit no doubt needing the recuperation.

It was late into the night when Anthriel appeared in the doorway of the room. Dean ignored her presence. He wasn't in the mood. No, far from it. In the past twenty four hours, he'd watched two of his closest friends – his _family_ – die. The last thing he needed was a sanctimonious speech from Anthriel. She may have spared he and Sam earlier, but he didn't think that would last. Not for a second.

"How is he faring?" she asked after a long and heavy silence when he refused to acknowledge the angel.

"How do you think?" Dean snapped. "This ain't something he can just sleep off."

"His wounds aren't severe-"

"He spent a week with that bastard Daityas. I'm not worried about the scars on the outside, sweetheart. I'm worried about the things that got screwed up on the inside," Dean responded, his eyes never leaving Castiel's temporarily tranquil face. He wasn't worried about their conversation waking him. Cas was the heaviest sleeper he knew.

"Castiel is strong. One of the strongest beings I've ever encountered. He will overcome this. Of that, I'm sure."

"Better hope so," Dean replied. "After all, Cas is your golden ticket. If he doesn't take down Xaphan, you guys are stuck down here with the rest of us stinking apes."

"If Castiel fails to dispatch Xaphan and finish the third trial, our exile to Earth will not be a long one."

"Because we'll all be dead in a week."

"Most likely, yes."

"Yippee," Dean muttered, running a hand over his face. "Look if you're here to say 'I told you so', you can shove it up your ass."

"I am not," Anthriel said stiffly. "You have been forced to deal with the consequences of your actions. You know that you made a grave error in choosing to move without the rest of us."

"You're talking, but all I'm hearing is that 'I told you so' I said I wasn't in the mood for."

"We have more pressing matters to discuss than what happened at Ackergill," Anthriel told him. "You and I both know that the angels are not enough to protect Jerusalem indefinitely with our forces spread so thin. We have managed to force out Xaphan's forces and set up a protective perimeter, but it will not last. It is only a matter of time before the opposition breaks through."

"And when they do, we're screwed. I know. Is there a point hiding in here somewhere, or are you just doom-saying for the hell of it?" Dean asked impatiently.

"When the time comes, and it will, we expect Castiel to play his part."

"Even if it costs him his life." It wasn't a question. Of course the Heavenly Host would want Cas on the front lines in spite of his condition. The angels weren't exactly fountains of sympathy and compassion.

"He is our only hope."

"Except we still don't have a way to kill Xaphan, which means we have no way to actually finish the trials and reopen the Gates."

"There might yet be a way."

"Oh?" Dean raised an eyebrow at her. "And what's that?"

"You're aware that we were observing you long before you and Castiel made contact with me in June."

Dean grimaced. "Painfully aware. Yeah."

"You spoke to Gabriel. He is presumably the one who saved your brother."

"And?"

"Gabriel's archangel blade could be the very thing we need to win this war – to end it. It's the strongest weapon in the universe. More powerful even than the Stygian blades. It's the only thing that can eliminate Xaphan."

"So get a hold of Gabriel."

Anthriel gave him a withering look. "We both know that is far easier said than done. We are not exactly on speaking terms with him."

"And what? You think we've got a direct hotline to the son of a bitch?"

"Gabriel has always had a vested interest in you and your brother."

"Yeah, the creepy uncle kind of interest. It's not exactly healthy. Plus, he made it pretty damn clear last time we ran into him that he didn't have any desire to be our go-to guy."

"If the universe implodes, even Gabriel will not be able to hide from the fallout."

"And what if it turns out Xaphan isn't enough for the third trial? What do we tell Gabriel, then? That the only way to open up Heaven is to kill him?"

"We will deal with that issue should it arise."

"Just tell me what you want," Dean sighed, irritated.

"Contact Gabriel. Pray to him. Repeatedly. I don't care what you do, so long as you obtain his help, or at the very least his angel blade," Anthriel said.

Dean sighed heavily. "He owes Crowley a favor. Maybe he can pull a few strings and get the sword, but I'm not gonna make you any promises."

"All I ask is that you try. We need him," Anthriel said, sounding very tired. Dean felt a dull pang of sympathy for the seraph; she was fighting a losing war against a practically insurmountable enemy, watching more and more of her brothers and sisters dying each day as she grasped at straws and tried to save those that remained along with the rest of the world.

She was a bitch, but she was a tough bitch with a hell of a lot weighing down on her shoulders.

"I'll try to send up a bat signal. We'll see what happens."

"Yes. I suppose we will." Anthriel was silent for a long moment. Dean waited for her to say more. "When they break through into the city, will you fight with us?"

He was surprised that she would even ask. "Yeah, I'll fight. No way I'm sitting on the sidelines for this one."

"And the others?"

"I don't make their decisions for them," Dean replied.

"I would argue the contrary. If anyone leads your…" She seemed to be searching for the right word. " _Team_ , it's you."

"Don't say that around Sam or Crowley," Dean replied mordantly. "I'll ask all of them. I think they'll all want to fight, but I'm not gonna say that for sure 'til I talk to them."

"Fine. We need every soldier we can get."

"No kidding."

They both went quiet. Eventually, Anthriel said, "I'll take my leave, then."

"Wait," Dean called, halting her. "There's something we need to talk about."

"What?" Anthriel answered shortly.

Dean rose from his chair, turning to face the angel. "Our little deal – me killing Crowley when this is all over? Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

"We had an agreement," Anthriel said immediately, expression turning stormy. "You swore that you would end the demon when the trials were completed."

"Well, I was going to," Dean admitted. "Really, I was gonna run the bastard through. Sam would've been pissed, yeah, but I was honest to God planning on it. But the longer I sit with it, I can't help but think… am I the kind of guy who kills someone who's saved my ass, and my family's ass, over and over and over again, and gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us just because some uppity angel tells me to?"

"When this is over, one way or another, Crowley will turn on you. He is a demon! Traitorous, evil slime! Why would you trust him? Why would you allow him to live?" Anthriel demanded.

"Demons, angels, humans... you know, they use words like good and evil to try to separate themselves, but it's not that simple. It's never that simple," Dean countered. "I'm not gonna pretend that Crowley's some kind of saint, or that the things he did before we shot him up with human blood aren't terrible, but I'm also not gonna pretend that he hasn't changed for the better. Bottom line: I'm not killing him."

"Then I will kill him myself."

"You really want to try that?" Dean asked, crossing his arms. "I mean, really. Have you noticed what tends to happen to anyone that tries to ice that son of a bitch? They die. If there's one thing Crowley's good at, it's keeping himself alive."

"Heaven is above Hell."

"Tell that to every other angel that died because they got in Crowley's way," Dean responded darkly, glaring at the female angel. "Oh, and I guess I should add in here that if you even look at him the wrong way, I'll tear your damn head off."

"Excuse me?"

"Over the past few months, at one point or another, he's saved every single person I care about. It's time to repay the favor. You come after him, and I _will_ put you down." Dean cracked a menacing smirk. "That is, if Sammy doesn't get to you first – and if he does, well, I pity you, because there aren't many things in this world that my brother cares about more than that demon."

"The only reason that you or any of your friends are alive is because of us. We helped you every step of the way with the angel trials."

"You also sent us on a suicide mission a few months ago, and you're at least part of the reason we're down two friends right now. You used us. We both know that. And you know what? We used you, too. But we don't need your help anymore. We know the last trial, and now we know the only way to get it done. We're going to do it, and we don't need you holding our hands any longer. We're gonna have to fight together in Jerusalem, but other than that, this little arrangement of ours? It's over. Permanently."

"If you recall, part of that _little arrangement_ was that the angels would return to Heaven and remain there if and only if you killed the King," Anthriel reminded him, taking a threatening step towards Dean.

"Yep. Of course, that was when there were enough angels left that they could actually be a problem." It was a low blow, damn low, and he could see it in Anthriel's eyes, but it didn't make what he said any less true. There weren't many angels left, not enough to count as a formidable army, surely.

"Apparently I made a mistake in thinking that the Righteous Man was capable of keeping his promises," Anthriel responded tightly. She looked seconds away from smiting him, but he knew she wouldn't dare. Not if she wanted Cas to help her get back home.

"I don't keep promises that get my family hurt."

"You would call the King of Hell your family?"

Well, he'd been referring to the fact that killing Crowley would hurt Sam, but just to rile her, Dean said, "Yeah, I would. He's a dick, and I spend a lot of time fantasizing about punching him in his short, smug little face, but… yeah."

"We'll see how you feel when you have a knife sticking out of your back, and Crowley's the one holding it."

"Right now, I'm just worried about who's gonna stick a knife in my front, sweetheart," Dean retorted. "Are we done here?"

"Hardly. We will have words when this is over, I promise you that."

"If we actually live through this shit, I'll be more than happy to."

Without another word, Anthriel turned on her heel and left the room.

That could've gone a lot worse, but he knew if they survived the last round with Xaphan and his army that he was going to have one hell of a time keeping Anthriel from killing Crowley. He was going to have to warn Crowley.

That was bound to be a fun conversation. He was sure the demon would be thrilled to find out that Dean had been plotting on killing him up until very recently.

Dean sighed. "I'm gonna have to get him drunk first."

* * *

The following day, around sunset, Dean showed up at the door to the room that had become Crowley's. Sam was with Cas and Charlie in Cas's room, sharing a pizza Claire had brought to them. Dean had slipped out for a moment, knowing that this would be one of the only opportunities he would have to get Crowley alone.

Crowley looked at Dean like he'd grown a second head when he knocked on the demon's door.

"You… want to have a drink with me?" the demon repeated slowly.

"Yeah. Is that so weird?"

"Us having a drink with the rest of the Scooby Gang? Not at all. You and I, alone, sharing our sorrows over a pint? Not my typical Saturday night." Crowley massaged his still wounded chest absent-mindedly. "You want something."

"Who says I have to want anything?"

"Me. And I have a nasty habit of being right."

"Just shut up and magick us up some booze, and we'll talk, okay?"

"Magick us up some…" Crowley broke off and rolled his eyes, turning away from Dean, he shuffled back towards his bed. "We're drinking my brand," he declared, before collapsing dramatically onto the large bed, letting out a heavy sigh. He snapped his fingers, and two glasses appeared alongside a bottle of Glenncraig on Crowley's night stand.

"That shit tastes like Sunny D, gasoline, and cheap cigars," Dean said, pulling a chair over and seating himself.

"You're so used to drinking that disgusting swill of yours that you can't appreciate any of the finer brews," Crowley said dismissively. "Now stop with that face and pour me a glass. I'm on my deathbed, here."

"You're not dying, asshole," Dean retorted, but he obeyed nonetheless, pouring himself half a glass, but filling Crowley's almost to the brim. He pushed it towards Crowley.

The demon arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you trying to take advantage of me, Squirrel?"

"Just shut up and drink. It'll help what ails you."

"If only." Crowley did, however, down half of the glass in one shot. He leaned back against the pillows that were propped up behind him, eyes falling closed as he swallowed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Terrible, predictably. It's been a long time since I've felt prolonged pain like this," Crowley responded. "Moose has been practically stuffing painkillers down my throat, being a mother hen."

"You think pills will help any?"

"Not unless they've invented chewable morphine tablets that I'm not aware of," he answered blandly, taking another sip of his drink. "Would you also like to ask me about the weather, or can we skip to the part where you tell me why you're interrupting my rest and recuperation?"

"Hey, you're the one who let me in."

"Yes, because saying 'no' to you would have worked out fabulously." Crowley gave him a withering look. "Let me guess: you want advice on how to confess your undying love to Castiel."

"What!?" Dean choked on the scotch, dribbling a decent amount of it down his chin. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. "No. No! Where the hell did you even get that from?"

"Adorable how you assume everyone around you is blind."

"I'm not – that's not – shut up!" he managed, setting his glass down. "This is about _you_ , douchebag. Not Cas."

"Little old me? Well, things just got interesting."

"I…" How the hell was he supposed to phrase it? He'd been hoping he would've been able to get Crowley sufficiently plastered before getting to the meat of the matter, but the demon didn't seem in the mood for beating around the bush. "I made a deal, awhile back. With Anthriel."

"I'm guessing by the ashamed tone of your voice you mean that the deal you made was for more than just what you told the rest of us."

Sometimes he felt like Sam wasn't the only one with Crowley in their head. "Yeah."

"Delightful." Crowley grimaced. "Go on, then."

"Anthriel wanted you dead. Still does."

"If that's the case, she's smarter than she looks."

"She wanted me to do it."

Crowley's expression was inscrutable. "…I see."

"I said I would."

Crowley merely watched him with narrowed eyes. He drained the rest of his drink and set the empty glass next to Dean's. He folded his hands over his bare stomach.

"Which begs the question, are you going to keep that deal?"

"Would I be in here telling you about it otherwise?"

"Maybe. Knowing that bizarre honor code of yours, maybe you would think that I deserved to know the truth before you slit my throat. You could certainly do it without much trouble, given my current circumstances." He gestured at his heavily bandaged chest.

"You're saying you wouldn't put up a fight?"

"I'm saying that for once, putting up a fight might not be enough."

Dean pursed his lips, tapping his fingers on his thigh as he weighed his next words. "I'm not gonna kill you, Crowley."

"Brilliant. Why?"

"The hell do you mean, _why_?"

"Why not kill me? Surely Anthriel promised you something in return for my head on a spike, yeah? So, what was it?"

"All the angels going back to Heaven, and never coming back," Dean answered. "Staying away from Earth and humanity forever."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, the closest he was ever going to get to a look of surprise from the demon. "My, my. I hope you brought tissues. I'm touched down to my very soul, what tattered wisps remain of it."

"I didn't do it to win brownie points from you, Crowley. I broke off the deal because it's the right thing to do. I'm not gonna screw you over, not after everything that's happened in the past couple of months," Dean replied.

"I was beginning to wonder how many times I was going to have to play the hero before I earned a full membership to Team Free Will," Crowley admitted. He stretched, putting his hands behind his head. "Nearly got gored open for you lot, after all. Put my neck on the line, risked my life repeatedly, came swooping in at your beck and call to save the day just in the nick of time-"

"And you're modest, too."

"What can I say? I'm a hell of a guy."

"Always the altruist, right?"

"Of course."

"So you're not pissed?"

"Would you care if I was?"

"Eh."

"It's nothing I wouldn't have done in your place. Though, I would've kept my side of the bargain."

"Is that a burn on me for not killing you?"

"Make a deal, keep it. One rule – my only rule."

"Yeah, well I've got one rule, too: don't stab your friends in the back. Actually, I've got a lot more rules than that, but that's the most important one."

"I'm stunned. Did you just inadvertently refer to me as a _friend_ , Squirrel?"

"I've called people a lot more for a lot less," Dean sighed. "It's not like I could get rid of you even if I wanted to, so I might as well get used to you being around all the time."

"If by 'all the time' you mean for the remainder of the last week this planet is going to exist."

"Nice attitude."

"I'm a realist."

They lapsed into an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes. Dean eventually poured both he and Crowley more Craig. "I told Anthriel that we'll fight with them, if Xaphan's army breaks through the barricade and gets into the city."

" _When_ , not if," Crowley corrected.

"She thinks I make you guys' decisions for you, but I don't. Ackergill fucked you up pretty bad. I get it if you don't want to tag along for the prize fight."

"And miss my chance to see how Xaphan looks in red? Never," Crowley answered. "This isn't just Heaven's war, or humanity's. It's Hell's, too. This is my chance to take my kingdom back and show that uppity angel who's really fit to sit on the throne. _My_ throne."

"You're hurt," he pointed out.

"I'll find it within myself to manage."

Dean held up his hands. "Whatever, man. It's up to you."

"If you think that anyone else is going to abstain from our soon to be royal rumble, you're sadly mistaken."

He knew that going in, but he could hope that at least someone would choose to stay behind. Cas was the only one who needed to go – and Dean obviously wasn't about to let him go alone, but he would feel a lot better about the whole thing if Sam and the others stayed in Prague.

Dean just shrugged, running a hand trough his hair. "I figured as much."

"Oh, don't look so sad. At least we'll all go down together. They'll sing songs about our daring and bravery, in the charred, desolate wasteland that the universe is going to become." Crowley lifted his glass in the air. "To the end of the world as we know it."

Dean grimaced, but he raised his glass and tapped it against Crowley's. "To the end of the world as we know it... again."


	72. With a Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the authoress probably unintentionally offends Crocodile Hunter fans, and Crowley calls in a favor.

 

For a brief time, Dean and Crowley were silent. Dean poured both of them more alcohol, even though he really wasn't a fan of Craig. At the very least, it tasted better than the old communion wine he'd been slamming down over the past two days.

After a few minutes, Dean decided it was time for Talk to Crowley, Part Two.

"There's something else I need you to do."

Crowley snorted. "What a plot twist."

"Trial number three... we need some pretty heavy fire power to take down Xaphan," Dean continued. "Anthriel says an archangel blade would do the trick."

"It would," Crowley affirmed with a nod. "Blasted shame, really, that all of the archangel blades are missing - or in the Cage. And I don't know about you, mate, but I'd rather not go poking around down there."

"Not all of them are missing," Dean reminded him.

Understanding dawned on Crowley. "You want Gabriel."

"I don't want him, but we need him. Or at least, we need his blade, and we need it right the hell now."

"Gabriel's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't want anything to do with you lot."

"He said he'd help you take down Abaddon."

"Evidently, I didn't need his help. And Abaddon isn't Xaphan," Crowley said.

"That mook wouldn't stand a chance against Gabriel," Dean reasoned.

"He's taking in thousands - likely _tens of thousands_ of souls. Xaphan, for all intents and purposes, is an archangel. He and Gabriel are equally matched."

"But Xaphan doesn't have an archangel blade. Gabe does."

"And if Xaphans disarms Gabriel and gets ahold of it? What then?"

"...That won't happen."

"Since when did you become such an optimist?"

"Look, can we not go ten rounds with this?" Dean asked tiredly. "Gabriel, for whatever reason, likes you. As much as he likes anyone, anyway. You guys go way back, and he owes you a favor."

Dean leaned closer, staring Crowley directly in the eyes, trying to get across just how important contacting Gabriel was to the demon. Crowley stared right back, defiant. Crowley had shaved that morning, and he no longer had his beard to mask the tense line of his jaw.

The King wasn't happy with Dean's plan, that much was obvious.

"You need to get that blade from him," Dean urged him.

"There's just one, teensy flaw in your plan, Squirrel."

"Oh yeah, what's that?" Dean wished desperately that Crowley had the capability within himself to just fucking _agree_ to something without making it a damn production. He didn't know whether the demon was incredibly stubborn, or just got off on arguing with him.

"How do you think Gabriel's going to react when he finds out the third trial is to kill an archangel? A group which, by the way, he happens to be the only one left of."

"It's not like we're going after him. We want Xaphan dead, not him."

"And if Xaphan doesn't fulfill the condition of the third trial? Then there's only one option left."

Dean swallowed. "Kill Gabriel."

"He's not an idiot. Far from it. He's not going to give you the one thing that could kill him, especially when you might very well _need_ to kill him in the near future," Crowley said.

"Well." Dean knew it was a problem. He himself had pointed out the same thing to Anthriel the day before. But how to fix it? "We're just gonna have to... bend the truth, a little bit."

Crowley gave him an incredulous look. "You're gonna try to lie to one of the most powerful beings that's ever walked the Earth?"

"Nope," Dean said with a shake of his head. " _You're_ gonna try to lie to one of the most powerful beings that's ever walked the Earth."

"Get bent."

"Come on, Crowley! You're the best liar we've got. Not to mention, for whatever reason, Gabriel trusts you."

"The best liar you've got," Crowley repeated. "Such flattery."

"Hey, Lucifer was the Prince of Lies. You took over for him, so that makes you the King of them or something, doesn't it?"

"Your logic is infallible."

"Will you do it or not?"

"Let's see, will I call on one of the few beings in the universe I could possibly call an ally, ask him for his sword, and then fail to the mention the fact that in a short amount of time, it'll likely end up buried in his chest?" Crowley asked, voice loud and sardonic. Dean glared at the demon.

"You got a better idea, I'm all friggin' ears."

Crowley glared right back at him, glass hovering an inch from his lips. After a tense second, he released Dean's eyes and downed the rest of the glass. He gritted his teeth against the burn, gaze distant as he set the glass on his night stand.

"Fine," he said stiffly. "But for the record? I'm against this."

"For the record? I don't really care."

Crowley gave a long suffering roll of his eyes and said, "Moron."

"Dick," Dean responded easily. He went to say more, but there was a knock on the door.

"Crowley?" It was Sam.

Crowley waved his hand, and the door opened. Sam stepped in, and he looked stunned to see Dean sitting at Crowley's bedside, glass in hand. His younger brother stood stock still, taking in the scene in front of him.

"Um." Sam's brow furrowed. "I thought you said you had to use the bathroom?" he asked, directing the question at Dean.

"I did... just wanted to stop in and run something by the King of Invalids."

Crowley slapped him on the back of the head for that. Dean winced.

"What did you want to run by him?" Sam asked slowly.

"Squirrel wants me to call down Gabriel for a pow-wow," Crowley said, and Dean was relieved that the demon chose not to mention their discussion about his deal with Anthriel. Sam really didn't need to know about that. If he found out, it would only serve to piss him off. The last thing he needed right now was tension between he and his brother.

"You're going to try to get his archangel blade," Sam surmised.

"Ding-ding."

"Do you think he'll do it?"

"Unlikely," Crowley said. "But shots in the dark are about all we have left, aren't they?"

"True," Sam conceded. "By the way, there's no pizza left," he told Dean.

"Shit. Ah well." He gestured at the bottle of Craig. "Guess that was my dinner."

Sam grimaced. "I thought you hated that stuff?"

"It's alcohol," Dean said with a shrug. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." Neither Sam or Crowley showed any reaction to that particular comment. Dean patted Crowley on the shoulder. "Good talk."

With that, Dean left the room, thoughts heavy and mouth tasting like citrus and ash.

* * *

"If I didn't know better," Sam said once his brother left. "I'd say you and Dean are starting to actually like each other."

Crowley let out a humorless chuckle. " _Like_ is not the word I would use to describe my feelings for Dean Winchester. You? I like you. Dean? I... reluctantly tolerate him."

"You guys are more alike than either of you realize."

"That's just insulting."

Sam smiled, but it was a strained one. Everything about Sam had been that way, since they'd arrived in Prague. Not surprising, given all that had happened. "Dean's either going to end up being your best friend, or your worst enemy."

"Why not both? That's infinitely more exciting," Crowley commented. He lifted the bottle of Craig. "Drink?"

"I'm fine."

"Your loss." Crowley proceeded to drink straight from the bottle.

"Given all of the painkillers you're currently on, that's a terrible idea."

"It's not as if it's going to kill me."

"If you ever change vessels, the poor guy you're possessing is going to have a burnt out carcass for a liver."

"I don't plan on changing anytime soon," Crowley replied. "This body suits me. Plus, if I ever do give him up, I'll just kill him out of mercy so he can go to Heaven... or wherever he's headed. I've been wearing him for ages, the bloke deserves a break."

"Why do you like your current vessel so much?"

Crowley grinned. "I thought that should seem obvious," he rasped out.

"Seriously? You took him just for the voice?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised high.

"Well," Crowley purred. "That wasn't the _only_ thing." He tapped a finger on his belt, giving Sam a lascivious grin. "Didn't sell my soul to get to ten inches just to downgrade later."

"That is way more information than I needed to know," Sam said with an almost comical grimace.

The two of them lapsed into easy conversation, as was common for them, but in the back of Crowley's mind, he could only think of Gabriel. Gabriel, and the fact that in the end, Crowley might have to betray him... and likely watch Cas kill him.

_Blehhh. Feelings._

* * *

When the oil lamps were out and moonlight was the only illumination in the monastery, Crowley rose from his bed. Sam and the others were all asleep. Claire and Anthriel were out and searching for the newest prophet.

It was time.

"Gabriel," Crowley said, raising his voice slightly and turning his eyes skyward. "I'm not praying for you. I know you can hear me, you bloody feather duster."

"You rang?"

Crowley turned to see Gabriel lounging on his bed, the stick of a lollipop hanging out of his mouth.

"What happened to you?" Gabriel asked curiously, eyeing his bandaged chest.

"Long story." Crowley noticed that the archangel had grown a beard since the last time he'd seen him. "Nice peach fuzz," he said. "I shave, you don't. We'll never be twinsies at this rate."

"Well if you called me once in awhile, we could coordinate things like this," Gabriel said, putting his hands behind his head. "But no, you only give me a shout-out when you want something from me. Typical man."

"Demon," he corrected.

"Ooh, touchy." Gabriel narrowed his amber eyes at him. "So, what's the deal, Crowles? Is it time for us to go wabbit hunting?"

"It's time for more than that," Crowley said, approaching the archangel. "Before long, we're going to decide the fate of the world… and Heaven… and Hell… and Purgatory, too, not that anyone really cares what happens in that rat cage."

"Did I miss something?" Gabriel sat up, not seeming concerned, but at least interested.

"Ever heard of the Man Tablet?" Crowley asked, sitting down by Gabriel's feet.

"I've heard of it, but _you_ definitely shouldn't have," Gabriel said slowly.

"Well, now everyone's heard of it, I'm afraid. The demons are going to make a run on Jerusalem any minute, try to get the Man Tablet. Xaphan wants to knock over the whole bloody Jenga tower. The Heavenly Host is going to try to stop him. The good angels are gathering all of their forces, just like the demons are amassing theirs. This is likely going to be the biggest battle that anyone has ever seen in the history of this universe."

"Well, don't undersell it," Gabriel said, but Crowley could tell from his eyes that the angel was deeply disturbed – Gabriel was just particularly talented at keeping up a perpetual front of good humor. "So, not only does Hell know about the Man Tablet, but they know where it is."

"Yes."

"I should've known when I caught wind of the amber alert on Kevin. They broke him?"

"No. It's a new game, darling. Torture is _so_ last year. Possession is all the rage now," Crowley said, then added in a lower tone, "It was Daityas's doing."

"Daityas? As in _the_ Daityas? Crossroads Special Ops Daityas?"

"Oh yes. Pulled Kevin's threads apart, got all the information he needed, and after all of that, a few angels who flipped sides... disposed of him. Now the other side's trying to hunt down the next prophet, and they're likely to get to him-slash-her first."

"Huh." Gabriel crossed his legs, sitting Indian style. "So, we're screwed."

"Essentially."

"Give me the prognosis, doc."

"The only way this could possibly not end with the universe collapsing in on itself would be for us to beat Xaphan's forces to the Man Tablet – or at least take it from them if they do get it first – then kill Xaphan, Nisroc, and Daityas, since they're the main leads of the opposing cast… and then, of course, keep their massive army from completely slaughtering us and the rest of the Heavenly Host. Oh, yes, and make sure that Castiel stays alive long enough to kill Xaphan himself, which at present doesn't appear possible, and finish off the third trial to open up Heaven again."

"Doubtable but doable," Gabriel said. "Team Free Will's done more with less, right? Speaking of, are the Grimm Adventures of Dean and Sammy still going strong, or did one or both of them bite it in the past few months?"

"Have you been keeping up on what's going on at all? Where've you _been_ , Feathers? Partying off under a rock somewhere?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Always thinking the worst of me."

"Yes, and when have I ever been wrong?"

"Words can hurt."

"I mean it. Eveything's going down in flames, and you've, what? Taken a sabbatical? Had a mid-millennia crisis? Even you're not this apathetic, not when you're dysfunctional family is taking casualties this heavy."

"You been to China, recently?" Gabriel asked, seemingly changing the subject.

"Sorry, haven't had the time, seeing as I've been a bit busy trying to SAVE THE SODDING WORLD."

"I asked if you've been to China, because in case you haven't noticed, there isn't any fighting there. There was, at first, 'till some mysterious force started wiping out all of the demons that were camped out there. The angels have a little setup there to keep an eye on things, but there haven't been any skirmishes in over a month."

It took Crowley a moment to realize what Gabriel was getting at. "You've been busy."

"Yeah."

They both fell silent. It felt nice to be wrong, for once. "Why China?" Crowley eventually asked. "Do you have an Asian fetish I didn't know about?"

"Oh, please. You know _all_ of my fetishes. Do we need to reminisce about Cartagena?"

"Don't tempt me. Back to my question – why China?"

"Well, a fifth of the Earth's population lives there. If you're trying to save the human race, it's a good place to start," Gabriel explained.

"Trying to save the humans, are you? And what about the angels?"

"I chose my side." The archangel looked away. "A or B. I went with 'or'."

"It was a brave thing you did, standing up to Lucifer. Incredibly stupid, but still brave."

"Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity."

"Isn't it, though?" Crowley bit the inside of his bottom lip. He'd mourned Gabriel when he died, as much as a demon could mourn someone. He'd lost one the very few allies he'd had left at the time, and the only thing he could even venture to call a friend. "Care to continue being both stupid and brave?"

"This is you calling in your favor, I take it?"

"It is."

"You want me to kill Abaddon?"

"I want you to do a lot of things. That, surprisingly, is not one of them."

"Oh?"

"Abaddon and Xaphan froze over Hell. Do you know what that means?"

"Don't tell me. Stygian ice as weapons?"

"Got it in one."

"Why would Abaddon start handing those out like candy when they're one of the only things that can make a Knight of Hell shiskebab?"

"Xaphan's orders, I can only assume... it was her downfall, in the end." Crowley smirked. "And that's not me being poetic. The hag is dead as a doornail."

"You killed her?"

"I did."

"Well hot damn! Look at you, getting stuff done without me having to hold your wittle hand." Gabriel gave him a dry look. "Why am I here, Crowley?"

"Because Xaphan needs to go, post-haste. The third trial is killing a fallen angel. As in, one of the original Fallen. Xaphan happens to be the only one left," Crowley lied easily, though he felt a deep pang of guilt for the misinformation, "and that pig poker of yours is the only thing that can feasibly take him down, with the amount of Hell souls he's raking in."

Gabriel watched him, cat-like eyes narrowed. "You want me to hand the strongest weapon in existence over to Castiel?" he clarified, looking understandably concerned.

"On paper, I know it sounds a bit-"

"-Like a recipe for disaster? That's because it _is_." Gabriel pulled the stick of the lollipop out of his mouth, now devoid of any candy, and tossed it in a nearby trashcan. "Look, I love Cas. I do. He's my baby bro. But that kid's been bumbling around and screwing things up since the second Dad popped him into existence."

"I realize he's a bit special ed, but so what? He's saved the world, before. Why not again?"

"Okay, yeah, Cas saved the world... and then, oh right, he let out the Mother of All Monsters _and_ the Leviathan, and nearly leveled everything he saved," Gabriel reminded him. "Oh, nice job with that whole Purgatory thing, by the way. _Genius_ idea."

"Well, maybe if SOMEONE had deigned it necessary to stop his prat of a brother from bringing on Judgment Day, I never would have had to go poking around in that fetid pit in the first place!" Crowley snapped. "I'm going to brass tacks this for you: I _need_ you to give me your archangel blade. I _want_ you to help us fight Xaphan and his army, but I don't expect it." Crowley promptly held out his hand. "I'll return it to you. You have my word... and you know I keep my deals."

There was a long, tense moment where the two of them simply stared at each other. The highest of Hell and the highest of Heaven, sitting on a dusty bed in a forgotten monastery.

"This doesn't make us even," Gabriel told him after a thick and contemplative silence. "Not even close. You _so_ owe me. Forever. And ever. And ever." Oh so carefully, the archangel lifted his arm. The blade dropped out of the sleeve of his jacket. He gripped it tight in his hand, seeming reluctant to let it go.

"Lok- Gabriel," Crowley caught himself before he could use the angel's old moniker. "You can trust me." Now _that_ lie... that lie felt like poison on his tongue.

Damn humanity. Why was he getting so sentimental about one little falsehood? It was about _survival_. And there was a chance that the archangel blade would never need to be used on its owner, so long as Xaphan's death met the condition of the third trial.

"Says the King of Hell," Gabriel quipped. "Say no more. I'm convinced." He let out a heavy sigh and flipped the blade around, offering it to Crowley hilt-first. "This is a mistake."

"Probably," Crowley conceded. He took the archangel blade from Gabriel, feeling the power in his hands, the full might of Heaven condensed into one weapon. "But it's a mistake that'll keep this infernal rock turning."

"Right." The archangel didn't look convinced. He rose to his feet. "I gotta go."

"More rice farmers to save?"

Gabriel shrugged, seeming somewhat drained of his usual vigor. "Probably. Hell, maybe I'll move onto Australia and fry some demons there. I always did like the Crocodile Hunter."

"He's dead. _And_ in Hell, by the way."

"Really? I never would have guessed."

"You don't get famous for sticking your arms in the mouths of wild animals without a Crossroads deal," Crowley said with a snort. "Are you going to be there, when the chips are down? When Xaphan's army breaks through?"

"You said that was a want, not a need."

"I'm sure you've realized by now that I have a peculiar way of always getting what I want."

"Oh? So you wanted a sword to the chest?" Gabriel asked sarcastically.

"You're hilarious. Answer the bloody question."

"...We'll see," Gabriel answered at length. "If the mood strikes me, maybe I'll drop by. When do you think things are going to go nuclear?"

"Not long. I doubt the angels will be able to hold the barricade in Jerusalem for very long, not with the amount of demons Xaphan has under his command. It's only a matter of time." Crowley scratched at his bandages absent-mindedly, watching the archangel closely. "So that's all I'm getting out of you? We'll see?"

"You already got my blade. Be grateful for that much." Gabriel sighed heavily. "Being a good guy is a pain in the ass."

"I wholeheartedly agree," Crowley grumbled. "Why did we stop being villains, again?"

"Well, I was less of a villain, more of a dashing anti-hero..." Gabriel said with a smirk. "Anyway. Gotta jet. And if anything goes wrong with _that_ ," he nodded pointedly at the blade, "Heaven hath no fury like a pissed-off archangel, my friend."

"I'll keep that in mind," Crowley said, but before he could even get the full sentence out, Gabriel vanished.


	73. The Science of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas ponders, and Laharl surprises everyone by being not-dead.

In the stillness and silence of the monastery, Castiel found peace.

It was small and fleeting, hard to grip, but it was there nonetheless.

It was the first time he'd been able to walk further than the bathroom on his own since being saved from Ackergill. He still felt weak, weak in his movements and his breath, but he was recovering. With the strange energy of the angel trials pumping through him, he was gaining back his vigor faster than expected. The wounds dealt to him by Daityas's Stygian blade still stung and burned like acid, draining him, but each time his bandages were changed, the injuries looked better.

It was the injuries that ran deeper that would take longer to heal. Far longer.

The sound of doors opening and closing still made him jump like a frightened animal, a panicked thought of _he's coming back_ ringing in his mind. He still struggled not to flinch when anyone touched him. And beneath closed eyelids... the horrors that played out, the memories, that in and of itself was indescribable.

He had never before experienced torture as a human. His experiences under the knife from when he had been an angel haunted him still... but his recollection of Ackergill was worse. So much worse. Because everything was deeper, so much more physical. Not wounded essence, not bleeding Grace... blood and bone and muscle, tangible things. _Human_ things. The things that hurt the most.

Castiel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to fight off the dark thoughts. He was safe, or at least as safe as he could be. No one would hurt him. He was with the Winchesters, with Crowley and Charlie, with Claire. With his brothers and sisters that were still good, still on the side of Heaven.

Castiel was startled when he felt the pew move slightly as someone sat down next to him. He knew without even opening his eyes that it was Crowley. The pew would have creaked in protest if it had been Sam, and Dean or Charlie would have made enough noise to alert him to their presence earlier. And Claire, well, Claire still made an effort to avoid him.

Neither of them said anything.

After a long moment, Cas opened his eyes. He watched Crowley out of the corner of his vision. The demon wasn't looking at him, his gaze instead fixed on the crucifix that hung on the wall, hands clasped in his lap. Cas had not seen Crowley once since arriving at the monastery, since neither of them had been able to leave their rooms easily.

Crowley was dressed in just his pants and black button down, which was only done up halfway. He could see the pristine white of the bandages wrapped around the demon's chest, a stark contrast against the black of his outfit.

"You shaved," Cas observed.

Crowley laughed, the sound echoing in the monastery. "Miss the scruff, eh?"

"I am indifferent to what facial hair you choose to have."

Crowley still seemed amused. He rubbed a hand across his now smooth jaw. "It was time for a change." He turned his head to look Cas in the eye. "I've got a present for you, Kitten. Second best thing to a get well card."

Cas's brow furrowed in confusion. A gift? From _Crowley?_

The demon snapped his fingers, and Cas heard a clatter to his left. His eyes immediately went to the source of the sound. He stilled when he saw it; an angel blade, on the surface, but a few moments of closer examination proved that it was something more. Longer, thicker, brighter... practically radiating with celestial light, with divine power.

An archangel blade.

"Dean said he asked you to speak with Gabriel," Cas murmured, distracted as he carefully picked up the blade. Sparks jumped along its length as he lifted it. "He... he gave you this?"

"Persuasion is one of my many talents," Crowley said simply. "All yours, now... once you drive it through Xaphan's chest, we can end this. Everybody's home in time for _Jeopardy_."

"Even once Heaven is open, the war will continue. His army will still want the Man Tablet, the demons and angels that have turned will still fight us. This is not a miracle solution," Cas reminded him, no terseness in his tone, just resignation. He turned over the blade. The multicolored light from the stained glass windows reflected off of it, dancing on the gray stone of the floor.

"Aren't you just a dash of cold water."

"I'm not saying there isn't hope."

"You're just saying there's not much of it."

Castiel had no response for that. They were quiet for an indeterminable amount of time. Birds chirped outside as the sun rose higher and higher. It was approaching seven, now.

"I'm surprised Gabriel gave this to you," Cas admitted. "Especially given the condition of the third trial."

"Yes, well... I may have bent the truth ever-so-slightly on that account," Crowley admitted.

"What did you tell him?"

"That the trial was to kill one of the Fallen, not an archangel."

"He did not see through your falsehood?"

"Do I look dead to you?" Crowley asked, as if the answer was obvious.

"Lying to him could be a grave error," Castiel said.

"For the love of- just take the bloody sword, say, 'Thank you, Crowley, for giving me the weapon that can save the universe' and then- I don't know. Go snog your hunter boyfriend, or something."

"I do not know what snogging is. Nor is Dean my boyfriend," Cas argued.

" _Yet_ ," Crowley said. "I'm getting out of here. The God stink is even worse in the sanctuary." Bracing his hands on his knees, Crowley rose to his feet. He was unsteady for a moment, but after a deep breath, he seemed alright. "Toodles."

Crowley promptly departed, leaving Cas with his brother's blade and a worry deep in his stomach.

_Can I do this?_

He wished now for the brazen self-assurance of the angel that had gone to Hell to restore the Righteous Man, of the angel that _believed,_ the angel that felt no fear except for the fear of God. He wasn't that angel anymore, though. He was a man, and a weak one at that. Weakened by fear and confusion, misery and pain, love and friendship. His mind was muddled, and with it came doubt... doubt that something like him (mortal, ephemeral) could possibly stand up to a being like Xaphan.

Then again, the Winchesters were mere humans... and yet they fought and won battles that should've been well beyond the scope of their capabilities.

But he was not a Winchester. For all they told him he was family, he didn't share their blood. Would he be as lucky as the Winchesters when he was staring down the nearest thing to Lucifer to be seen since the apocalypse that never was? Would he come out alive? He didn't know.

He hated not knowing.

He would soon be diving blind into the fathomless Hell of war, and he was afraid.

_Being human is infinitely frustrating_ , he thought to himself.

"Are you praying?"

Cas was startled by the sudden presence at his side. Where Crowley had been only seconds before, Claire now sat, staring at him with eyes that mirrored his own to an almost disconcerting degree.

"I... was thinking," Castiel responded slowly, surprised to find himself in the company of his vessel's daughter. Claire tended to avoid him if she could. They may have been on the same side, but he knew true forgiveness from Claire for all he'd done would be in the very distant future.

If there was a distant future to be had, that was.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Many things."

"Like?"

"Humanity. What I was. What I am. What changed me," he elaborated. He tucked the archangel blade into one of his belt loops, and then let his hands rest in his lap.

"I'd give anything to be human again," Claire told him after a heavy moment passed between them. "I bet you'd give anything to be an angel again though, wouldn't you?"

It was a question he had asked himself many times over the past few months. He wasn't even sure that he had an answer.

"I don't know," Cas said honestly. "Sometimes... I want nothing more than to fly again. But other days, I look around at this world, at the people I'm surrounded with, and I think I am very lucky. I think that an angel couldn't have the things I have... at least, an angel couldn't experience things the way I do. There are beautiful things in this world. Many of them are meant for humans alone. To have the privilege of that..." Cas inhaled deeply. "It's difficult to put words to it."

"After getting tortured for a week straight, you still feel like that?" Claire asked dubiously.

"I feel like that even more, now," he told her gravely. "When faced with losing everything, I realized just how much I had. I have a family. Ten days ago, I had a home. I feel..." He struggled to explain. "I feel loved, and I have the capability to return it fully. A part of me wonders if I could go back to being an angel now, given the chance. Go back to that... detachment."

"It's kind of a bummer," Claire said. "Knowing that everyone you care about is going to die, and you're just going to keep on living... it sucks."

Cas looked at her, feeling a strong compassion for the girl. "Claire, when this ends and Heaven is open, I will speak to Anthriel about trying to make you human again. Theoretically, we could cut your Grace out - or rather, Lailah's Grace - and you would no longer be an angel."

"Don't make me promises you can't keep," Claire stated firmly, eyes darting away, focusing on her shoes.

"I can at least promise to try," Castiel said, frowning. "Claire, I will never stop trying to make up for what I took from you. I know it's a debt that can't truly be repaid, but..." He tried to smile at her. "You should get used to me trying."

Claire snorted. "Yeah. I'm starting to get that." She shifted, resting her arms along the back of the pew. "I guess it doesn't make much difference. We're all probably going to die soon."

"I would like to have a sunnier outlook on things."

"You're not out there," Claire said quietly. "It's... it's bad, Castiel. It's really bad."

"I realize that."

"No. You don't." Claire shook her head adamantly. "You haven't been where the real fighting is... it's... it's..."

"Hell?" Cas offered.

Claire nodded. "Pretty much."

"I have seen Hell before, Claire. Literal Hell." He raised his hand, wanting to... wanting to what? Comfort her somehow. But he knew the sentiment wouldn't be appreciated. No, it would only ring hollow... another ghost, another reminder of the father she'd had taken from her.

He dropped his hand.

"You are too young for this," he lamented. "I'm sorry you have to see this. See war. See Hell."

Claire was silent for a moment before she said, "How old do you have to be for this to be okay?"

Castiel didn't have an answer for that.

* * *

Later that day, Crowley stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, examining his bare chest. The bandages that had previously covered the wide gash that led from below his left pectoral to his collar bone were discarded on the ground by his feet. He'd managed to convince Sam to let him changes his own bandages, and he was glad for the opportunity to more closely examine the wound.

It had been three days since he'd received the injury, but it still pained him as though he'd gotten it mere hours ago. The area around the sutured gash was bright red, and the blood veins near the injury were bulging and purple, poisoned from the contact with the business end of Abaddon's Stygian blade.

Crowley sighed. He felt like the only thing holding him together were the sutures in his chest. He hated being so limited, being essentially bedridden for fear of tearing open the cut. Truthfully, a demon not tainted by humanity would have had the good sense to simply switch vessels, but he'd allowed himself to become sentimental. He didn't want to abandon his favored meat suit. Not to mention the fact that it wasn't just his inhabited flesh that was damaged, but his very essence.

With pursed lips, Crowley began the task of cleaning the area around the wound meticulously. Usually a task such as this would have bored him, but he felt a sense of relief just being able to do something for himself. Sam had transformed into Mother Moose over the past several days, and he'd barely allowed Crowley to do anything without assistance. Although he appreciated Sam's concern, he also found it somewhat grating.

Once the injury was thoroughly cleaned, Crowley began rewrapping it with fresh, clean, linen bandages, being gentle so as not to further irritate the wound.

"Whoa, rough night out?"

Crowley jumped at the voice behind him. He whirled around to see Laharl leaning against the wall next to the shower. There was a bloody scratch marring his cheek, and his black hair was a ruffled mess, but aside from that he seemed fine.

"Laharl," Crowley greeted. "I was beginning to think you'd gone and gotten yourself turned into bloody finger paint."

"You don't give me enough credit, boss."

"Need I remind you that I pulled you back from the edge of your untimely demise last week?" Crowley asked as he finished rewrapping his chest.

"We all have our off days. Speaking of, what the hell happened to you?" The other demon tilted his head, eyes meeting Crowley's in the mirror.

"Haven't you heard the good news?"

Laharl grinned. "The old Queen is dead, long live the King."

"I do so love the taste of retribution. Watching her bleed out on the floor is my happy place, now."

"I'm guessing you got that in the tussle?" Laharl nodded at his bandaged chest.

"She put up a fight. Nothing I couldn't handle," Crowley said dismissively. "Shall we skip the pleasantries? I'm eager to hear your report. Did you have any luck on your little diplomatic mission?"

"Oh, yeah." Laharl seemed particularly proud of himself. "None of the demons were happy about Hell getting frozen over. Apparently, Xaphan did it without even consulting Abaddon. Even the loyalists were livid about it."

"Ho-ho. Trouble in paradise. Tell me more."

"There's unrest in the ranks. I knew my best shot were the Crossroads demons – they've been repurposed since Abaddon took over. Basically demoted to foot soldiers. After all, the new queen doesn't care about corrupting humanity, making deals. If she wants souls, she takes 'em. It's fucking barbaric."

Crowley headed back into his room. "She interfered with the natural order of things. Got greedy. And now she's paid for it. Karma's a bitch."

"No kidding. Needless to say, most of them are missing the old regime. They wanted to turn on Abaddon, but they didn't have a way to take her out. And they're demons, so they're-"

"-cowardly prats only out for themselves," Crowley filled in. "I raised them well."

"So, how do they feel now that they're serving an angel and their quote-un-quote Queen is six feet under?"

"The entire Crossroads department will flip the minute you give the word, boss. They're even willing to fight with the angels. They don't care. They just want Hell back in order."

"Don't we all?" Crowley sank down on his bed, allowing himself a slight smirk. "So we have the support of my former coworkers. What of the rest of them?"

"Most of the kingdom was still too scared to switch sides, knowing what Abaddon would do to them."

"But that was then, and this is now. What do the numbers look like now that Abaddon's Abaddead?"

Laharl grinned. "Enough for a halfway decent army. Once word spread about you killing the Queen, most of the bastards were practically begging to defect."

"You made sure not to speak to anyone with loose lips, I hope."

"Well you know how demons are, boss. I'm not gonna make you any guarantees that one or more of them isn't going to go running back to Xaphan and tattle on me. But that doesn't change the fact that we got a lotta demons that want to come back to our side," Laharl explained.

"True, but I would still like to keep this under wraps if at all possible. Give us the element of surprise."

"Surprise?"

Crowley's smirk widened. "Wouldn't it be a sight if in mid-battle, half of Xaphan's army turned and took up arms against him?"

Laharl laughed out loud. "Well shit. Ain't that just gonna be a Kodak moment."

"It'll look lovely above my mantle," Crowley said.

"When is this battle gonna happen, exactly? The big throwdown?" Laharl asked.

"As of yet? I haven't the foggiest. Soon, is all I can say. When the angels can't keep Xaphan's army out of Jerusalem any longer."

"You guys got the right ammunition to take that fucker down?"

Crowley nodded. "And how."

"Can I ask how you managed to pull that off?"

"A story for later," Crowley said. "I've got a job for you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Prophet hunting."

"That's so last year, boss." Laharl didn't seem surprised by the order. He must've noticed the prophet omens and known that Kevin had met his end.

"Nevertheless, we need to find the new one before Xaphan's goons do... or God help us."

"God help us... kind of a weird thing for a demon to say," Laharl observed with a hint of humor.

"What am I supposed to say, Satan help us?"

"Point."

A knock came on the door, and Crowley and Laharl's heads both lifted. _"Open up,"_ Sam requested over their link, sounding grave. Crowley flicked his wrist, and the door opened, revealing Sam.

His eyes flicked to Laharl's briefly, seeming surprised. "I was starting to think you'd died."

"Seems to be a lot of that going around," Laharl said dryly.

"We're in the middle of something here, Moose. What is it?"

"Anthriel says she needs to talk to us. All of us."

An image in Crowley's head, courtesy of Sam; Anthriel's face solemn and her vessel's blue eyes hard. Something had gone wrong. Crowley's lip twitched, the only sign he'd seen anything. He rose to his feet.

"Am I invited?" Laharl asked, directing the question at Crowley rather than Sam.

"Yes," he said in no uncertain terms. Laharl was his right-hand man. Anything Anthriel told them, he would eventually share with the other demon anyway, so he saw little point in excluding him. "Let's go see what horrific, earth-shaking catastrophe's happened now, shall we?" Crowley smiled with false enthusiasm.

Sam exited the room, and the two demons tailed behind him. Sam led them through weaving corridors, headed to an unknown destination. He could tell that the Winchester was walking slowly for Crowley's benefit. As if to prove a point, Crowley caught up with him, walking side by side with the hunter.

Their eyes met, a silent understand passing between them.

Something that sounded like " _stubborn ass_ " floated over their connection, and Crowley smirked. Sam sped up his pace. Soon enough, they were inside a small auxillary prayer room, devoid of anything but a few pots holding long-dead plants, a single large, wooden crucifix, and a tattered rug to kneel on.

The walls were lined with people. Charlie (supported by a crutch), Castiel (supported by Dean), and Claire formed a line, with Anthriel standing opposite them.

"Gang's all here," Dean said. "Can we cut the shit now?" he asked bluntly, looking Anthriel dead in the eyes.

"Close the door," Anthriel ordered.

Sam obeyed. She promptly took out her angel blade and drew it along her palm, creating a thin but seemingly deep wound. She brushed past Crowley and Laharl, dipping her fingers in the blood like macabre fingerpaint. She started drawing an Enochian sigil on the wall.

"Um, what are you doing?" Charlie asked, tilting her head and trying to get a better look at the sigil.

Crowley already knew what it was. "It'll keep out prying ears," he explained.

"You're worried about the other angels listening in," Castiel surmised. "Surely you can trust the ones stationed here?"

"If this war has taught me anything, it's that no one can be fully trusted," Anthriel replied morosely.

"Then what's with her?" Laharl asked, nodding at Claire.

"Different case entirely," Crowley explained briefly. "More angel adjacent than the real thing."

"She's an angel, minus the douche," Dean added.

Claire almost seemed to smile at that.

Anthriel finished the sigil, and then she turned back to them. "We can speak freely now."

"What's going on?" Sam asked immediately. "Jerusalem-"

"Jerusalem is fine," she cut across him. "For now."

"So what's gone sideways, then?" Dean pressed.

Anthriel grimaced. "The new prophet has been found in America, in Washington DC."

"...And not by us," Claire continued for the other angel.

Everyone in the room seemed to sag or let out a dejected sigh all at once.

"Given this new development, I wager we can wait no more than four days to launch an assault on Xaphan's forces. We will destroy him, open Heaven, eliminate as many of his forces as we can, try to capture the new prophet, and locate the Man Tablet. This is our very last chance. We will let them into the city when the sun rises on Tuesday morning. Allow them to think we've been weakened... and then we'll attack."

"Four days?" Dean said, incredulous."Is this some kind of joke? Does Cas look like he's ready to take on Xaphan to you?"

"Have you not succeeded in obtaining Gabriel's archangel blade?" Anthriel asked.

"Yeah, but-"

"Then he is as ready as he can be." Anthriel's eyes flicked to Castiel. "Will you fight?"

Cas didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Cas, you can barely stand," Sam pointed out. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I have to be."

"No, you _don't_ have to be," Dean growled out. "There's no way I'm letting you go into this when you're just going to end up getting yourself killed."

"If I don't do this, we will _all_ be killed," Cas said tersely. "By Tuesday, I'll be strong enough. That's four more days of recovery."

"You need weeks, not days!" Dean protested.

"Dean, I'm sorry, but this is not up for debate," Cas said, a finality in his tone. "One way or another, by this time Tuesday, this will all be over."

"Are you sure you can't hold them off any longer?" Crowley inquired. "Just a week more? You can't tell me the full might of the Heavenly Host can't hold off a rag-tag band of demons and fallen angels?"

"Jerusalem is an enormous city, and our forces are spread as thin as possible - and Xaphan's army is no bare bones militia. They number in the thousands, if not more," Anthriel answered stiffly. "If we can hold the perimeter until Tuesday, we'll be incredibly fortunate."

"Do you have any clue where the Man Tablet could be?" Sam asked.

"As of yet? No."

"Brilliant," Crowley commented. "We're going in blind."

"We're just going to have to make due with the time we've got," Charlie said with an air of forced optimism. "We've got time to plan. We have to use it."

"I may have a bit of good news... a few thousand helping hands that could help turn the tide," Crowley told the room at large.

All attention immediately turned to Crowley. "What do you mean, demon?" the Seraph demanded.

"What I mean, _angel_ , is that there's quite a bit of dissent among Xaphan's demonic ranks. I've decided to capitalize on that... I've got a hefty chunk of Xaphan's army ready to turn on their fellows at a moment's notice."

"You serious?" Claire asked, seeming faintly impressed.

"Deadly."

"That's great!" Dean said. Then he caught Anthriel's unhappy expression. "Or... not great?"

"I have no desire to fight alongside demons," Anthriel said firmly.

"If you want to watch Jerusalem, your army, and the rest of the world burn, then by all means, turn down my _incredibly_ generous offer," Crowley told her, feigning indifference.

Her feathers seemed ruffled by that. "We do not need demons to survive!"

"Isn't there a saying about not looking a gift-demon in the mouth?" Charlie said. "There's no point in not working with them. The other side has both angels and demons."

"The other side is also evil," Anthriel argued.

"Really, Hot Wings? You that afraid to get your hands dirty?" Laharl challenged. "Face it: we're your only chance."

Anthriel looked ready to smite Laharl, but Crowley could tell that she saw the truth in his words. Crowley was grateful he'd brought the other demon along. He could be persuasive, in his own quirky, low-brow way.

"Fine," the angel spat. "But I do not like this."

"You don't have to like it," Crowley replied with a thin, nasty smile. "You just have to do what you're told."

Now Anthriel looked like she wanted to smite Crowley.

"We leave Tuesday morning," Anthriel stated again. "Prepare yourselves."

Without another word, Anthriel disappeared.


	74. Last Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean just wants everyone to be safe, and everyone just wants Dean to shut up.

The next four days dragged on. And on. And on.

Dean wanted everyone to stay as safe as possible.

No one else seemed to want that.

The days before the battle were marked with several conversations. Some fruitless, some fruitful, and some just downright unpleasant.

The conversation with Sam was the shortest. Dean wasn't really surprised.

"You don't have to fight," Dean said offhandedly to Sam over a dinner of ham sandwiches and warm soda in the monastery's small kitchen. "On Tuesday, I mean."

Sam finished chewing his bite and gave Dean a third degree bitch-face. "Are you fighting?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Then so am I."

Damn it. Dean glared at his brother, trying to come up with an argument that could convince Sam to stay behind.

He came up with absolutely nothing.

"Bitch," Dean grumbled.

"Jerk."

Next was Charlie. She was in her room on her laptop, scratching absent-mindedly at the thick wrapping of bandages on her leg while she typed furiously with her other hand. How she managed to pull that off, Dean didn't know. He sat at the foot of her bed, weighing his words carefully.

"Just spit it out, Dean," she said, not taking her eyes off of the screen. "You're hovering."

"No I'm not."

"You're _totally_ hovering."

Dean rose to his feet, encroached on Charlie, and leaned down so his head was directly next to hers. "No, _this_ is hovering."

Charlie promptly pinched his ear, and amidst a string of Dean's ' _ows_ ' she said, "Tell me what you're thinking or let me enjoy my Fortress of Solitude, in solitude."

"Fine, fine!" Charlie released Dean's ear, and he massaged it with a grimace. "I want you to stay behind when we go to Jerusalem, okay? That's what I'm thinking. That's what I want."

"Not happening."

"You gotta listen to me, kiddo."

"I'm going with you, Dean. End of story."

Dean shook his head. "I never wanted you involved with this to begin with. You know how many times you could have died, just since the whole ghoul thing in Lawrence?"

"Probably about forty times, give or take a few."

"Exactly!"

"And you know who's fault that would've been?" Charlie asked, looking up at him.

"Mine," Dean said automatically. "I'm the one who got you tangled up in all this crap."

"No," Charlie said firmly. "It would have been _my_ fault. Because _I_ make my own decisions, and _I'm_ responsible for my own life."

"Charlie," he sighed.

"Dean," she sighed as well, giving him a pointed look. "I know you want to protect me. It's the older brother instinct. But I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. There's no way I'm staying behind on this one."

"I will literally get on my hands and knees and beg you. Just sit this one out. For me. _Please_."

"Wow, you're pulling out the secret weapon. _For me_." Charlie smiled a little. "I'm kind of touched, actually."

"So does that mean you'll stay here where it's safe?"

"Hell to the no."

"God _damnit_ , Charlie!" Dean burst out, frustrated. "Do you have some kind of death wish?"

"I don't have a death wish," she promised. "What I _do_ have is a plan."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

With a somewhat satisfied look, Charlie turned her computer. "Behold my masterpiece," she declared.

There was a mess of numbers and what appeared to be coordinates on the screen. Dean couldn't make sense of it.

"This is going over my head. What am I looking at?"

"You know those drones I hacked into during the Ackergill job?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, I replicated that... nearly five dozen times over. We've basically got an army in the sky, now."

"No one noticed you do that?"

"I haven't taken control of them yet, just programmed the backdoor that'll allow me to redirect the AI at will. Right now they're doing exactly what they're supposed to be doing. Come Tuesday, they'll do whatever I want them to. Now, we can't load them up with demon bombs, since a lot of the demons are going to be on our side, but the surveillance value alone is worth it. We'll have eyes everywhere at all times."

"So if any of Xaphan's grunts find the Man Tablet..."

"We'll know immediately. Plus, if I have an angel with me, I can update Anthriel constantly and let her know where she needs to redirect her forces. I've kind of got a mind for battle strategy thanks to Moondoor, so..."

"Charlie, you're a fucking genius."

She grinned. "I know."

"So... where are you gonna do this from?"

"From within the city," she told him. "But I don't plan on actually fighting, if that chills you out at all."

Dean took a deep breath. "I still wish you'd just stay here, but I guess I'll take what I can get." Dean tilted his head. "Wait a minute, how are you going to keep track of all of those drones by yourself?"

"I'm going to be linked up with a buddy in the US who's going to be watching at the same time I am. Whatever I don't catch, Hardison will."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You sure you can trust this dude?"

"Ever heard the term honor among thieves?"

"Yeah..."

"There's your answer."

"Whatever you say." Dean held up his hands. "Okay, well, now you just need an angel to guard you. I have the perfect candidate in mind."

* * *

Dean managed to catch Claire later that night. She was in the sanctuary, on her phone, seeming dead to the world. He wondered vaguely what Claire had told her friends about her current predicament. How do you explain just randomly disappearing and then suddenly being on the other side of the world a few days later?

"Hey, kid."

"Not a kid."

"Right, right... I need a favor."

"Olive Garden or Pizza Hut?"

"Ha-ha. No. I need you to watch Charlie's back when we go to Jerusalem. She's got an important job to do, and I need someone to keep her safe."

Claire put down her phone and glanced up at him. "That's what I want to be doing... but it's not my decision."

"What do you mean?"

"I have to answer to someone, remember? I'm an angel," Claire said with a sour expression. "You have to talk to Anthriel."

Dean sighed heavily. "Great."

* * *

"Claire is both trustworthy and has advanced adequately enough in her training that she will be a worthwhile asset on the battlefield. I will not waste a soldier guarding your friend while she operates her flying machines."

"Flying machines," Dean echoed, knuckles digging into his forehead. "They're drones. They're useful. _Charlie_ is useful."

"And so too is Claire," Anthriel retorted. "Too useful to waste."

"She's a child!" Dean exclaimed. "If she goes into this head-on, she's not coming out! At least if you put her on guard duty, she'll be sort of safe."

"It is not my job to keep anyone safe," the angel replied tautly. "It is my job to stop Xaphan."

"Is this - are you doing to this to _spite_ me?" Dean asked. "For going back on the whole Crowley deal?"

Anthriel's gaze was ice cold. "I would never be so petty."

"You wouldn't be that petty _my ass!_ You're throwing her into the fire to try to get back at me!"

"If that is what you wish to believe-"

"Let me put it to you this way," Dean said, interrupting the Seraph. "You want our help, period? You stick Claire with Charlie."

"Castiel will help regardless of your qualms."

"But what about the rest of us? What are you going to do if Crowley decides to tell you to go screw yourself, and you lose half the manpower you would've had otherwise?" Dean challenged.

Anthriel glared at him. "His world hangs in the balance as well. He has personal stock in this."

"Yeah, he's also got a soft spot for that kid you're so hellbent on getting killed. So, your choice. Sideline Claire, or..." He left the threat open, allowing Anthriel to fill it in for herself.

"Is this how we deal now, you and I? Traded threats and empty promises?"

"Look sweetheart, all I care about is that soon enough, one way or another, you and I never have to deal with each other again. And won't that just be a breath of fresh fucking air?"

Anthriel crossed her arms, still seeming defiant. "Fine. She is just one angel, after all."

Dean allowed himself a small smirk. "See? Was that so hard?"

The angels eyes were hard. "Begone, Winchester. I have business to attend to."

"You really are just a ray of warmth and sunshine."

And so it was arranged: Charlie and Claire would be semi-safely tucked away at what would hopefully be a secure location in Jerusalem during the battle.

There was just one person left to talk to.

Late in the afternoon the following day, Dean was walking with Crowley around the monastery grounds. Crowley did a number of circuits each day, trying to gain his strength back. He was generally flushed and panting by the time he arrived back at the monastery, but Dean could see he was recovering more and more as time went on.

"You know," Dean said nonchalantly as they walked, his hands in his pockets. "You're still not at a hundred percent. That thing must still hurt like hell." He nodded at Crowley's chest.

"Yes, Captain Obvious, the giant gaping tear in my chest does indeed _still hurt_ ," Crowley snarked in response.

"Look, what I'm saying is... can you really handle this? The whole Jerusalem thing? You said you'd manage, but from where I'm standing, you're _barely_ standing. You can send Laharl, make sure he gets everyone to flip on Xaphan at the right time. You don't need to go yourself."

"What kind of King am I if I stay behind while the fate of my kingdom hangs in the balance?" Crowley said. "Not to mention, Moose is going. If Moose goes, I go."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You really are gay for Sam, aren't you?"

"Well I'm certainly not straight for him."

Dean remembered the question he'd asked Sam the day Bobby and Kevin had died, in the midst of a depressed, drunken stupor... _"Are you in love with that little bastard?"_

Sam never did answer him.

"Oi, Squirrel, hurry it up." Crowley's voice jarred him out of his thoughts. Dean realized he'd fallen behind. He caught up with the demon as he walked through a patch of poplar trees. Crowley's steps were more sure than they were the previous day. Crowley was recovering... but not fast enough.

"You go into this thing before you're healed, you could die," Dean reminded him.

"Then so be it."

Dean shot him an incredulous look. "That doesn't sound anything like the Crowley I know."

"There's no room for self preservation in war, especially a war like this."

"So you're okay with the fact that you're walking straight into something that's probably going to get you killed?"

Crowley's eyes darkened. "Okay with it? Not remotely. I want nothing more than to run screaming from this and let the angels and demons level Jerusalem and each other in the process." Crowley huffed out an irritated breath. "But no, I can't. Because I'm 'good'," the demon said with air quotes and a look of mild disgust.

As the monastery came into sight, Dean said, "And because of Sam."

Crowley was silent for so long, Dean began to wonder if the King had heard him.

They walked in a wide arc around the building, ignoring the front doors - which were guarded by two angels - and headed for the side door that led into the kitchen. When they reached the door, Crowley said, "Yes."

Dean raised an eyebrow at the demon. "Yes?"

"I'm finding that a lot of what I do nowadays is because of that brother of yours."

Dean's hand rested on the door knob. He met Crowley's eyes, seeing a surprising amount of vulnerability there.

"Do you like Sam? Like... _like like_ him?"

"What are you, a nine year old girl?"

"You know what I mean."

"If you mean, do I want to bugger him senseless? Then yes, yes I do."

Dean shuddered exaggeratedly. "Dude. _Gross_. But that's not what I mean. You wanna fuck everyone."

"Do you see me lining up at _your_ boudoir-"

"Are you in love with my brother?" Dean cut across him, leaving the demon absolutely no wiggle room to evade the question. If Sam wouldn't be straight up with him, maybe Crowley would. The demon's eyes darted away in an insant, focusing on the ground.

When Crowley didn't respond, Dean said, "Look, I don't... Sam, he feels something strong for you. Damn strong. And I don't care if he's... you know... gay, or - or bi, whatever." Now that was something he never thought he would say out loud. "All I care about is whether Sammy's happy or not. Right now, you make him happy."

Crowley's jaw tightened at that.

"But you're gonna hurt him," Dean continued. "Because what you are isn't compatible with what he is, and I think you know that. If this actually turns out okay, you're going back to Hell, right? Can the King of Hell be with a hunter? We both know the answer."

"Where do you get off-" Crowley growled, but Dean halted him with a raised hand. He didn't want an argument. No. Not today.

"If you're actually capable of loving someone, and you do love Sam? Well..." Dean found he was having trouble phrasing it. "Don't hurt my brother, Crowley, and don't hurt yourself. Sometimes... you just gotta let things go."

_When this is done, you have to go home. Because otherwise..._

They stared at each other for a few moments, a stand-off in its own right.

"Do you understand?" Dean asked quietly.

Crowley gritted his teeth. "Understood."

* * *

_"One day more... another day, another destiny... this never-ending road to Calvary... these men who seem to know my crime will surely come a second time..."_

"Crowley. Can you please. Not," Sam requested tersely.

_"ONE DAY MOOOOOOORE-"_

"I will duct tape your mouth shut. I ain't kidding," Dean said through a mouthful of Cheerios. Dean, Cas, Sam, Charlie, and Crowley were gathered in the monastery's dining room, right beside the kitchen, eating their breakfast at the worn oak table. Morning sun poured through the windows.

It was Monday.

Quite possibly their last full day on Earth.

_"I did not live until today, how can I live when we are parted,"_ Charlie continued for the demon as she buttered her toast.

"Not you too," Dean groaned.

"I am confused," Cas said, brow furrowed.

"Some dumbass musical about a bunch of whiny French people," Dean explained. "Totally not fitting, by the way. Because we're going to win tomorrow."

"Ten points for optimism," Charlie commented. "And hey, even if we die, we die in the glory of battle! Totally _Braveheart_ , right? Very honorable."

"I highly doubt if you'll be feeling honorable when you're speared through the middle on a Stygian blade," Crowley told her. The demon was in a full suit today, for the first time since sustaining his injury. As if to say, _yes, I'm better, I'm fine, I'm back to normal._

But the demon's movements were still stilted, and Dean could see him wince when he bent certain ways.

"You sure know how to give a pep talk, Crowley," Charlie said, taking a bite of her toast.

"Would you rather I burst out into "Do You Hear the People Sing" instead?" Crowley asked.

Sam and Dean chorused an adamant "NO" while Charlie nodded enthusiastically. Cas still looked lost.

The five of them were silent for a few minutes before Sam spoke up. "So... when exactly do we leave tomorrow?"

"Anthriel said we will depart here before the sun rises. Probably five-thirty. We should all endeavor to get to bed early," Cas told them.

"I don't think anyone's gonna be able to sleep tonight, Cas," Dean said in a low voice.

The ex-angel frowned. "I know the pre-battle nerves are... hard, but we need to go into this at our best."

"If we were going in at our best, three of us wouldn't still be injured," Dean pointed out.

"I'm fine," Crowley insisted.

"I feel much better as well," Cas added, straightening his posture.

"Right as rain," Charlie piped up.

Dean sighed, putting a hand on his forehead. "You guys would say that even if you were missing limbs and bleeding out on the floor."

"Oh, like you wouldn't do the same?" Sam challenged.

Dean crossed his arms almost petulantly. "Shut up."

Sam laughed at him. Dean retaliated by reaching over and attempting to steal a piece of his bacon. Sam slapped his hand away, but Dean proceeded to lick his finger and shove it in his brother's ear. Sam reeled back with a look of disgust and wiped at his ear while Dean succeeded in hijacking his bacon.

The table degenerated into peels of laughter while Sam fought to reclaim his pilfered food (now half eaten) from his older brother, and Dean tried to enjoy every second of it, because he was pretty sure it was the last peace he was going to have for awhile.

Maybe it was the last peace he would ever have at all.


	75. One Day More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the authoress continues to make Les Mis references, and gayness (finally) happens (sort of).

_"Don't hurt my brother, Crowley, and don't hurt yourself. Sometimes... you just gotta let things go."_

No matter how much Crowley hated to admit it, Dean's words had gotten to him.

He wouldn't bother to lie to himself any longer; he'd gotten attached, over the past four months. Cripplingly so. For all his bluster about self-preservation and survival, he was perfectly aware that it had become not his first motivation, his first priority, but his second.

If he had needed to give up his life in Ackergill, he would've. If his death would've won Sam his life, then he would've laid his head down on the block for him. To Crowley's terror, the list of things he wouldn't do for Sam Winchester were shrinking rapidly by the day.

Sam, who accepted him.

Sam, who trusted him.

Sam, who cared for him.

Sam had become so important, so precious to him... it was beyond words, beyond his own comprehension. Dean had asked if he was in love with him. Claire spoke as if she knew he was. Was he? He didn't know. How could he? What did he know of love, really? He'd known love in his human life, but that was nothing but a faint aftertaste to him now, not a real memory.

He would take any pain for Sam. Any punishment. He would go to the ends of the Earth for him.

Was that love?

_It must be._

So what do now? What to do, now that he was armed with the knowledge that he was well and truly _hopelessly_ in love? He didn't entertain the notion Sam could feel the same; it was a possibility, yes, but not a guarantee, and he was a demon who operated on guarantees.

Dean seemed convinced that his love for Sam would ultimately hurt him.

He wasn't wrong.

_"What you are isn't compatible with what he is."_

Oh, but he knew that. Because Sam, in spite of the fact that he was always meant to end the world and rule what was left after, in spite of the fact that he was born to house the most evil being to ever exist, he was good. Good because he was human, good because he was a Winchester, good because he'd been loved so purely since the time he was born.

Crowley was born as nothing. He chose to become evil, reveled in evil, _ruled_ evil. He took down Lucifer and took his place. He became what Sam was supposed to be. He had never known the kind of unconditional love that Sam had.

He was a villain. Sam was a hero.

That wasn't how the story was supposed to go.

Never before had he held in his hands the capability to hurt someone like he had the capability to hurt Sam. They were intertwined, attached at the mental hip... their fates had become woven together.

But Crowley had never given much credit to Fate. Fate's pages had been torn up when Sam sealed Michael and Lucifer in the Cage. Fate was no longer a factor.

There was no destiny for them, no ultimate end. It was all about choices, now.

He wanted Sam. He wanted to be with him. But how?

He would only hurt him. If anything was inevitable, it was that.

His was mind was at a stand-still. Surely it could wait, he would reason with himself. Surely it was something to worry about after they'd saved the world.

But there was the chance - a large chance - that they would fail. They would fail, and they would die, and Crowley would never know what it was like to have his lips against Sam's, their bodies pressed together, their arms around each other. He would never know what it was like to hear the words, "I love you," come from Sam's mouth-

Crowley shook his head, heart racing.

Those were human things. Not meant for demons.

And yet... they were what he wanted.

He was at Sam's door before he even realized what he was doing.

* * *

"Moose."

Sam looked up from Ruby's knife, which he was in the process of cleaning. Crowley stood in the threshold of his doorway, arms crossed, watching him intently.

"Hey. What's up?" Sam asked, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. He hadn't slept the night before, hoping that he would be exhausted enough to fall asleep early the night before the battle. He doubted he would be able to rest at all, but he could hope.

There was something about Crowley's demeanor that seemed... different, somehow. Crowley jerked his head to the side. "Come have a drink with me," the demon said. Sam arched a curious eyebrow at the demon.

"Right now?"

"No time like the present."

Sam considered him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright." He rose from his chair and sheathed Ruby's knife. "Where to?"

"There's an overlook about five minutes from here," Crowley said. "It's beautiful at sunset."

Sam smirked at Crowley, amused. "I do believe you're being romantic, Crowley."

Crowley rewarded him with a small smile. "It's probably going to be our last one. We might as well enjoy it, hmm?" He turned on his heel and strolled out of the room. Sam followed doggedly after the demon.

"How'd you find the overlook?" Sam inquired.

"Midnight stroll."

"How'd you know it looks good at sunset, then?"

"I was guessing, alright?" They exited the side door, out of view of prying angels. As Crowley led him back past the stable and into the woods, he snapped his fingers. "Catch," he warned.

Sam lifted his arms just in time to grab a wine bottle that had popped into existence. Vintage. 1837. Probably worth more money than Sam could imagine. "Really? No Craig? I'm stunned."

Crowley laughed. Sam liked it when he laughed and it was genuine. It made his eyes light up and the tension fade from his features for a few moments. He didn't get to see that very often. "I'm glad I can still surprise you," Crowley said.

"Somehow I think you're always going to be surprising me," Sam admitted. Crowley smirked, and a bit of warmth seeped through their bond.

"If we make it through tomorrow, I'll make sure that I do," the demon said, leading him down a downtrodden deer path enshrouded by azalea bushes. The scent of summer slowly crossing over into fall was in the air, a heady aroma of wilting leaves and fragrant flowers saying their last goodbyes.

"Always looking on the bright side," Sam commented.

"You know what we're up against," Crowley said over his shoulder. "Bloody demon army... the odds aren't exactly in our favor."

They continued down the path, winding through old trees that were as thick around as Sam was, if not more.

"I lived in the Czech Republic for a spell, back in the late twenties," Crowley shared. "Lovely country, really. I wish I could've stayed longer, but Lilith had other plans for me."

"It's kind of hard to imagine anyone in charge of you," Sam admitted. "The entire time I've known you, you've always been in control."

"Not when you first met me."

"No, even then. You were the only demon that had any control at all. The rest were all just Lucifer's puppets."

"Oh, Moose, you flatter me."

Sam shrugged. "It's not flattery, really; it's just the truth of it."

"Nevertheless, I'll take the compliment." Crowley grabbed Sam's hand, redirecting him up a small hillock. "Almost there." Sam held onto the demon's hand, not fully sure why. After heading up a near ninety degree angle, they arrived at the overlook.

Crowley was right; it was stunning. He could see for miles, low-lying farmland and a river that weaved its way through the valley. The trees were just barely starting to change. Some were green and some were slowly turning reddish-orange. Wind blew over fields of wheat, and small wooden hovels dotted the area. All of it was lit up with the sunset, almost as if everything was made of gold.

"Wow," Sam breathed. "It is beautiful." He was still holding Crowley's hand. The demon pulled away first. He snapped his fingers, and a checkered blue blanket appeared on the ground, along with two crystal wine glasses. He sat down, crossing his legs, and looked up at Sam.

He patted the space next to him. "Come on, then."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Crowley... is this a date?"

"Not until I put the roofie in your drink."

"Oh, you're hilarious." Sam sank down next to Crowley. Crowley took the wine bottle from Sam and uncorked it. Carefully, he poured the two of them each half a glass of the vintage wine.

"I don't think I've had wine since I was in Stanford," Sam said.

"Much more recently than that," Crowley said. "You had some that night in Doha, if you recall."

"That's right," Sam acknolwedged, accepting a glass from Crowley and smelling the wine. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

"Now _that_ is a lie. That was the kind of night one doesn't easily forget... and not for any fun reasons." Crowley sipped at his wine, eyes distant.

"I'd never seen you so human," Sam admitted quietly, sloshing around his drink. "I mean, I looked in your eyes... you _were_ human, for a second there. You were feeling a kind of pain only humans can feel."

He took a drink of his wine. Crowley was watching him, now.

"Humanity is infinitely complicated," Crowley said in an almost uncharacteristically soft voice.

"It is," Sam agreed. _"But... that's kind of one of the best parts,"_ he added mentally.

Crowley nodded, seeming distracted. _"I suppose it is."_ The demon proceeded to drain the rest of his glass. He set it gently on the ground, and then turned his attention back to Sam. Sam felt a sudden rush of heat. He'd never seen that look in Crowley's eyes before.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said abruptly, and Sam realized at least part of that fire flooding through him was coming from his link to Crowley.

"Sorry for what?" Sam asked.

"For this."

Suddenly, a small hand was wrapped around the back of Sam's neck, dragging him forward. Before Sam could even fully register what was happening, his lips met Crowley's.

Crowley was kissing him.

At first, it was just a light pressure, but then Crowley tilted his head, and the demon's surprisingly soft mouth pressed more firmly to his own. Sam's thoughts seemed to blank as he found himself lost in the King's warm, focused kiss.

Crowley tasted like wine and smoke.

_This is a bad idea._

Crowley's hand slid up and tangled into his hair, which sent a jolt down Sam's spine. The demon's other hand was on Sam's chest, resting over where his scarred over hand-print was. Sam suddenly felt the urge to do something with his hands, as they were hanging loosely at his sides. He brought them up to frame Crowley's face, splaying his large fingers over his cheeks, feeling the scrape of the demon's five o'clock shadow under his palms.

It was a confusing mess of emotions and desire from both he and Crowley – through it all, though, he felt a kind of joy from Crowley that he hadn't thought the demon capable of. Crowley's tongue swiped at Sam's lower lip, a quiet request for access, and against his better judgment, Sam opened his mouth to him and deepened their kiss.

His heart collided painfully with his ribs every beat, and his whole body seemed almost supernaturally hot. The inexplicable attraction he'd felt for Crowley, the draw, it seemed to push him into the demon. Any and all reasons that sprang up in his head that motivated him to break their kiss were quickly brushed aside.

He needed it. Needed Crowley.

He pushed off the demon's suit jacket and pulled him closer by the biceps, gladly giving into the feeling... the feeling he couldn't describe...

It felt _right_ , and it wasn't often that anything in his life felt right. It wasn't like with Ruby, there wasn't the underlying feeling that he was doing something dirty, something that had to be kept a secret, and it wasn't like kissing Amelia, which had basically been like drowning. Drowning because he felt like she and her lips were the only thing that kept the air in his lungs, the only thing that kept him alive and afloat in the wasteland that his life had become. It was also unlike Jess's tender kisses that made him feel whole even though everything inside of him thought that he was bad, that he was a freak.

No, Crowley's kiss wasn't comparable to any others he'd experienced. It stood on its own, because it simply felt like his lips belonged against the demon's, like they were designed for the moment. It was like he was programmed to kiss Crowley. It was as natural as breathing.

Breathing… breathing was getting more difficult. Crowley was an impossibly talented kisser, unsurprising given his previous occupation as Crossroads King, and every swipe of tongue against tongue, every nip of Crowley's teeth at his lip, ever slight tug on his hair threatened to send a shudder ripping through him. Sam had thought about this. He wasn't going to lie to himself, because as Crowley had said in the past, lying to yourself was the worst sin of all.

Sam pushed Crowley down so he was lying on his back, their lips parting for just a split second. Sam straddled the demon, and they shared air as Sam adjusted himself overtop of the King, his arms flat on either side of Crowley's head.

Crowley and Sam stared at each other then, both panting, both wanting, but neither moving.

The tense moment shattered apart, and he was kissing Crowley again, kissing him hard, because he wanted more of that _right_ feeling, that _good_ feeling. And Crowley was touching him _everywhere_ , and... and...

It was better than he'd ever imagined it would be.

Pressing. Friction. _Closeness._ An elusive thing that Sam hadn't had in a long time.

But there was a problem.

He could smell it.

It was pumping through Crowley's veins, hiding underneath the flush of his cheeks, and he had a feeling that a large amount of it was heading south, if the increased intensity of their kiss was any indication. The iron-and-sulfur scent was all over, completely overwhelming. Sam's body ached with need, his mouth salivating at the idea of retreating from their kiss, untying the demon's tie, revealing his pale neck… sinking in his teeth and lathing his tongue over the wound he would create, lapping up the blood… the desire to taste him seemed to possess Sam's whole being.

Crowley's presence had always put him on a slight edge – the demon was his friend, one of his closest, but Sam would never be completely free of his addiction, and whenever he was around Crowley, the low hunger was there. There, and growling. Growling like a beast that had gone far too long without being fed. He had long since learned to suppress it and ignore it, but with Crowley oh so very close, it was proving incredibly difficult to reign in his cravings.

He shoved away from Crowley much more forcefully than he meant to, gasping for breath, his entire body feeling like it had been suddenly taken by a fever. Crowley looked similarly wrecked, his cheeks cherry red and his breaths coming fast and sharp. He licked his kiss-swollen lips, which did nothing for Sam's current state, as he instantly wanted to chase the demon's tongue with his own. He sat back on his heels, still partially on top of Crowley.

"C-Crowley-"

"I'm sorry," the demon repeated. "I – I just wanted to know."

His brow furrowed. "Know? Know what?"

Crowley swallowed with effort. He looked pained. "If we die tomorrow…" The demon's eyes turned away from his own, and Sam felt a substantial loss. "I needed to know," he said quietly. Sam still didn't understand.

Sam felt a deep ache from the demon, a surprising kind of pain. He realized with a jolt that Crowley thought that he'd been rejected. Sam yearned to touch him, to tell him that wasn't the case, but he couldn't get closer to Crowley. If he did, there was no telling what he would do. Sam rose to his feet on shaky legs, and Crowley sat up, avoiding his eyes.

Sam's gaze was still trained on Crowley's neck. He closed his eyes.

He didn't want to hurt Crowley. He didn't want to be that person. He didn't want to fall back into his own darkness… he _couldn't_.

"Crowley – it isn't you," Sam said. "It's me. It's – it's the blood. Your blood."

Understanding seemed to dawn on the demon. "I…" He seemed temporarily at a loss. "Bollocks. I didn't even… all this time, you never seemed affected, I…"

"I've never been that, uh… that up close and personal with you before," Sam explained, somewhat awkwardly.

Great. The talking part was coming, now, the part where they had to acknowledge what just happened between the two of them. There was no more dancing around it, not anymore. All summer they'd been playing a game, and it was finally over. There was no more playing coy, no more denial.

It was out there. His reaction to the kiss spoke for itself. There was something between them, and really? It was fucking terrifying.

Crowley seemed almost bitter. "Would you believe that I'd almost forgotten?" Crowley asked lowly. "Forgotten what I've got pumping through me. Forgot what I was."

"Crowley… it's not your fault," he said. "I just… please." He didn't know what he was pleading with the demon for. Forgiveness… understanding… something.

"I'm sorry." He hated hearing Crowley say that. Part of Crowley's very personality was how unapologetic he was. Sam knew what Crowley was going to do a second before he did it.

"Wait, don't–"

It was too late. The demon had already disappeared.

* * *

By the time the sun had fully set, Sam was on his bed in his room, staring hopelessly at the ceiling. There was nothing to do now but wait for the battle tomorrow. Wait, and try very hard not to think about Crowley. At the moment, he wasn't doing a particularly good job of the latter.

His mind was a mess of conflicting, confusing thoughts. One side of him was screaming for him to find Crowley, to repair things between them, to make the King understand. To make him swear on his crown and his kingdom that he would make it through tomorrow.

The other part, the part that still felt the loss of Jessica like he'd seen her dead on his ceiling just yesterday, thought that perhaps what happened was for the best. Because really, how could getting involved with the King of Hell possibly be good for him? He was a recovering demon blood junkie who was seemingly cursed to lose everyone he loved.

When it was all over – and it would be over soon, one way or another – Crowley would either be dead, or back on his throne. Neither position was conducive to any kind of relationship.

Relationships… he'd barely been able to cope in relationships with human women. What the hell would he do with a male demon? Barring some drunken bi-curious experimenting at Stanford, he barely had any experience with men. He'd always considered himself straight.

If his reaction to Crowley's kiss earlier had been any indication, that label was evidently erroneous.

Really, Sam was afraid, and that was the end of it. He was afraid of being with Crowley, because the power of what was between them, their connection, it… it was somewhat terrifying, the sheer depth of it. The demon pulled him in, his gravity completely inescapable. He was worried that he would be destroyed by their... whatever-it-was. Sam's weakness, Crowley's species, the wariness of emotional connections that they both had… something was bound to sink the two of them eventually.

And what if they found themselves on opposite sides again, someday? Crowley was a demon, Sam was a hunter. There could very well come the time where their goals clashed, and they would be against each other. It would be as if their past few months together had never happened at all.

Crowley would be his enemy once more.

Sam bit back a sigh, hating the idea. Fighting Crowley would be like fighting himself, with their link. He couldn't imagine it. Just like he couldn't imagine losing Crowley. The demon was so much a part of him now... he didn't even know if he would survive the loss.

"I've never heard you think so loudly."

Crowley's voice on the other side of the room made him jump in surprise. He sat up. Crowley was leaning by Sam's dresser, a tumbler of scotch in one hand, while the other was buried in his pocket. Crowley's tie was loosened, revealing his neck (that was the last thing Sam needed, after earlier) and his hair was a mess.

He appeared to be completely wasted.

"Hey," Sam greeted cautiously. He hoped that Crowley hadn't been privy to most of his internal monologue. "I was beginning to think I wasn't gonna see you again until tomorrow."

"Couldn't stay away that long," the demon replied blearily, green eyes dull, which bothered Sam. They were always so sharp and focused, generally a hint of amusement hiding within them. Crowley always seemed to be inwardly laughing at a joke that no one else had heard. Or maybe the demon had just been around long enough to realize that existence itself was just a joke.

"Listen…" Where to begin? "Earlier-"

Crowley held up a hand. "Moose, please. No need to explain. I get it – I get it now."

"Okay… uh, what exactly do you get?"

"What I am," the demon slurred. "You made me forget, Sam. Made me forget that I'm a demon."

He didn't know where Crowley was going with this, and he didn't know how to respond, so he let the demon continue.

"You know, I never understood, before, how Hell was actually a punishment. Sure, a few hundred years of rape and torture, but at the end of it, if you can crawl your way out of the Pit... it's a second chance," Crowley said, draining the last of his scotch. "Those dumb sods in Heaven? They're locked up there forever. But demons… demons get to go _back_. So, where's the downside, really? It's power. It's immortality. It's a new beginning."

"Crowley-"

"But I realized something. It isn't a second chance. You only get one shot at being human. If you fuck it up, that's it. And humans… _being human_ … once you lose that, you can never experience things like that again. Never. Sure, no one wants the stubbed toes and irritable bowel syndrome, but all of the good? It's worth it! Love, friendship, family, redemption… all unique to the human experience. All, therefore, out of my reach."

"Part of you _is_ human," Sam reminded him gently.

"It's not enough!" Crowley snapped, slamming his glass down on the dresser so hard that a crack appeared in the bottom. He took a deep but shaky breath and added, "It'll never be enough."

 _It's enough for me._ Sam wished he could give voice to the words. He reached out to Crowley with his mind, trying to soothe the King, but he was halted when he found steel walls blocking his path.

"When this is all over – assuming that we survive, which isn't all that likely – I'm going back to Hell."

_No._

"And I'll have power. I'll have respect. I'll have the best that a demon can have. The best _I_ can have," he said, drunken sorrow in his words. His eyes were glistening. "It's all I can do."

"You're drunk," Sam said, swallowing with effort. "You won't feel like this when you're sober."

"Oh, I felt miles worse when I was sober, mate," Crowley replied, staggering forward. "I've just got to accept what I am. There's no forgiveness, not for a thing like me."

He'd had enough of this. "Come here," Sam commanded quietly. Crowley shook his head.

"No. I should go."

"Crowley," he halted the demon with his name. "Come here, _now_."

"Moose-" Sam pinned Crowley with his eyes, daring him to argue.

With a sigh of surrender, he came to stand by the bed. Sam surprised Crowley by dragging him down onto his bed. Without hesitation, Sam pulled the demon to him. They were both lying on their sides. Crowley looked almost nervous as Sam put an arm around his back and covered half of the demon's face with his other hand.

Crowley's hands rested on Sam's chest, one over the handprint that he had burnt there, just like earlier.

"Listen to me," Sam said in a low voice, ignoring the hunger rising steadily within him. "You're good, Crowley. You changed – and it wasn't just humanity that changed you, _you_ changed you." Sam pursed his lips, then leaned his forehead against the demon's, his eyes drifting close. "You're still a demon, but your heart's human… and in the end, that's all that matters."

"I killed my wife," Crowley said abruptly. Sam's thoughts immediately stalled out.

"…what?"

"Got black-out drunk. Threw a tankard, hit her in the temple. She was dead before she hit the floor."

Sam withdrew slightly, and suddenly, Crowley's carefully built up walls came crashing down, and Sam was flooded with a kind of guilt and self-hatred that overwhelmed him, threatened to drown him and wash him away completely. Memories flashed in his vision, memories that most certainly were not his own. Screaming, crying, holding a soft and still body in trembling hands.

"I was a textbook alcoholic. Would've put Bobby to shame. As I got older, I got worse... 'specially after my sister was kiilled. I knew too much about witchcraft for my own good, got particularly wasted one night, sold my soul for an extra three inches, in my infinite wisdom... woke up the next day and remembered what I did. After that, I went off the rails. I was terrified. Lost control. I didn't want to die. I don't think I was sober for the next nine years. Then... then it happened, and I - I killed her, my wife... and I... I..."

A tear escaped Crowley's eye. Sam felt like somebody's hand was in his chest and squeezing his heart in a vice-grip. He drew Crowley closer, pulling the demon tightly to his chest. He rested his chin on the top of Crowley's head, holding him tightly, trying to soothe him through their bond.

Then another memory hit him.

Tying a rope. Jumping off of a chair. The sickening snap of bone. Darkness.

"Oh my God..." Realization dawned on Sam. "Crowley, you didn't..."

 _"I couldn't live with myself."_ The demon's voice was barely a whisper in Sam's mind, like a light gust of wind. He realized Crowley was shaking. Sam twisted his fingers into the fabric of the demon's shirt.

 _"You killed yourself,"_ Sam responded over their link. _"I... I had no idea."_

_"I'd forgotten. Didn't remember until just recently."_

_"Why didn't you tell me?"_

_"It's not something I want to think about. I was a coward."_

_"I don't even know what to say."_

"You don't need to say anything," Crowley said, aloud this time. "I'm not trying to get sympathy from you – or worse, pity. No. I just... you need to _understand_."

"What are you trying to get me to understand?"

"I break things," Crowley said simply, voice muffled against Sam's chest. "I hurt... when I get close to anyone, I hurt them. There's not much in the way of similarities between my human self and my demon self, but that is one thing we have in common... I'm going to hurt you, too. It's inevitable."

"Nothing is inevitable," Sam insisted. "Nothing. And of course you're going to hurt me. That's part of life, Crowley. I'll hurt you, and you'll hurt me. Look at Dean and I. We've hurt each other a thousand times over and we'll do it another thousand times, but it doesn't matter, in the end. What matters is that he's my brother, and he's my family, and no matter what a dickhead he is, I'd rather have him in my life than not. And I feel the same way about you."

Crowley pulled away from him, still in his arms but not pressed as closely. He narrowed his eyes. "Hate to break it to you, Moose, but if you look at me as a brother I can't really reciprocate-"

"I'm not saying that," he cut off the demon. "I don't tend to make out with my brother. Or do this. Whatever _this_ is."

"And doesn't that just beg the question..."

"I don't know, Crowley. Okay? I don't have any idea. This is a mess, _we're_ a mess... but when this is over, and everyone's safe, we'll talk, okay? We're going to talk about this, because we need to. But regardless, you need to know that... even if you go back down to Hell, I don't want you to..."

How was he supposed to say it, to get across that the last thing he wanted was for Crowley to leave?

"You know you're always welcome with us, wherever we are," Sam finally managed, and he knew it was a statement that didn't say nearly enough.

Crowley just watched him. "What the hell did you do to me?" He shook his head, returning his head to Sam's chest with an air of resignation. "I used to be in control. I used to be _strong_. Now look at me. Practically fucking-"

"-Slumming it?" Sam asked with a ghost of a smile, remembering the night after the first trial was completed. "And Crowley, you are strong. You're one of the strongest people I know."

"Not a person."

"You _are_ a person," Sam told him adamantly. "You have humanity. You have a heart. You're a person."

"If I was a person, you wouldn't be fantasizing about sinking your teeth into my neck right now, now would you?" Crowley told him lowly. Sam's nostrils flared. We wished Crowley hadn't planted that thought in his head. "That's what I thought." The demon sighed, beginning to pull away. "I'm going."

Sam didn't let him go. "Wait. Okay? Just... stay with me. Tonight. I need to sleep. It'll be easier with you here."

"I highly doubt that."

"Crowley... please." Sam's eyes were pleading, and he could see the demon's resolve break. With an irritated huff, Crowley vanished. A second later, Sam felt an arm wrap around his waist. There was breath on his neck, and a warm mass pressed all along his back.

He couldn't help but smile. "Why am I the little spoon when I'm twice your size?"

"Shut up and sleep," Crowley ordered, speech still dragging somewhat.

Obediently, Sam closed his eyes. "You'll be here when I wake up?"

In his head, Crowley answered: _"I'll be here."_

Sam felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, one he suspected was supernatural prodding from the demon behind him. In mere moments, he was sleeping soundly.

* * *

Crowley closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Sam's deep, even breathing. He planned to keep his promise. He would be there when Sam woke up. And he would be there for the battle, at his side every step of the way.

But after that?

After that, he would leave, just as he said he would.

_"Don't hurt my brother, Crowley."_

His thoughts flew apart, musings about caged birds and Fate (if such a thing even existed anymore) and loving something enough to let it go, to leave it behind. He loved Sam. Sam might very well love him too, if the last few hours were any indication.

Crowley knew then that when all was said and done, he would have to return to Hell, return to his throne, and leave Sam Winchester behind. For a million reasons. They were both already in too deep to come out unscathed, but maybe he could save them both the heartache that would come with actually trying to be something.

The King of Hell and a bloody Winchester.

As if they would ever stand a chance.

Crowley was what he was, and Sam was what he was.

_You think you're too tainted for him. Not good enough._

Maybe so.

Maybe he was afraid. Maybe... he exhaled deeply. There was no point in thinking about it any longer. His mind was made up.

He had a tendency to break things.

He didn't want to break Sam.

So, he was going to leave. He tightened his grip around Sam, hand resting on the hunter's stomach, and he tried to be at peace with his decision. Tried to tell himself he was doing the right thing. Tried to sleep, because why not want one more human thing.

But he didn't sleep. Couldn't.

When the sky outside turned from black to gray, he woke Sam.

It was time.


	76. War of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the authoress is glad she has this AU to bury herself in, because canon has become too traumatic for her tastes. 
> 
> (also: boy kissing and deep talks)

Dean and Cas were in bed, but neither of them slept. They'd both given up that fruitless endeavor hours ago. Now there was no longer any point in trying to sleep; they would need to get up in less than an hour. Dean was on his side, facing Cas's bare back, attempting to calm his restless thoughts and subsequently failing.

He traced the Enochian warding sigils on Cas's back with his eyes several hundred times, trying to gain some kind of peace from the repetitive motion. He was unsuccessful.

There was a blank spot now, between Cas's shoulder blades. The ex-angel had explained to him that Daityas had burned the skin off, and when it had healed thanks to the power of the trials, it had been fresh, un-inked skin. If they made it through tomorrow - today, now - Cas was going to need a new one.

"Dean... what are you doing?"

Dean realized with a jolt that he'd stopped going over Cas's warding with his eyes and started absent-mindedly tracing it with his finger.

"Sorry," he apologized, retracting his hand. "Just... restless, I guess."

Cas turned so he was facing Dean. "I am restless as well." The moonlight reflected in Cas's eyes, amplifying the blue so that they almost seemed to be glowing. "I've never felt so nervous before a battle before."

"Part of being human," Dean told him.

"Are you... are you afraid?" Cas asked tentatively.

"I don't know if that's the right word for it."

"What is the right word?"

It was too late for questions like that, but Dean tried to piece together an answer anyway. "I'm not afraid to die," he told Cas. "I'm really not. I don't want to die, but... been there, done that, you know? I think the reason people are afraid of dying, it's 'cause they don't know what comes next. It's all a big mystery. But me? I've seen behind the curtain. I've seen Heaven, I've seen Hell, I've seen Purgatory... I'm prepared for whatever's gonna come."

Dean swallowed, continuing with, "But that doesn't mean I'm not scared shitless that something is gonna happen to you or Sam, or Crowley, Charlie, and Claire. That's what's really got me twisted up. Because I've seen enough of the people I care about die for one life time." He shifted closer to Cas almost subconsciously. "I just... I, uh, I keep thinking back to when Michael and Lucifer faced off. When Sam dove into the Cage, and you and Bobby were dead... and it was just me. Alone. And..." His voice faded. "Guess I just don't want that to happen again."

"I don't want that to happen either."

Dean took a deep breath, trying to drive the thoughts away and replace them with courage. "But hey... we'll figure it out. We'll pull it off," he said, attempting and failing to smile.

"How?" Cas asked, creases forming in his forehead. "Dean... the odds we're up against... how are we going to do this?"

Dean licked his lips and simply said, "Together."

Cas's mouth formed a pensive line. "And if that's not enough?"

"...Then we'll fall together."

Fall. Fall like the sky fell. Like the angels fell. Like Cas fell himself, not so long ago. It seemed like a life time ago to Dean, but he was sure it was just a blink of an eye to Cas. One second a loyal angel, the next a rebel, a fugitive fighting to stop the apocalypse. Another blink, and he's human and in bed with the very human he fell for. The human he gave up everything for.

Dean wondered often if he was worth it. Worth Cas giving up everything. He hoped that he was, but he didn't feel worthy of that kind of sacrifice.

"I'm glad I have you, you know," Dean said the words without really considering their weight, their impact. But he had no desire to take them back. It was the end of the world, and he was sick of pretending, of holding back. There was no point in it anymore.

Cas smiled at him. An actual, genuine smile complete with dimples and teeth, even. "And I'm glad to have you," he answered.

Dean couldn't help but smile, too. "Cursed or not?" he asked, wondering if Cas remembered.

His expression sobered, but Dean could see the memory playing out in his mind. "Cursed or not," he affirmed.

And didn't that just sum them up completely? That no matter how far off the reservation the other went, how bad things got, no matter what burdens they carried, they would carry them together.

_Together_. A word that suddenly held new significance.

Dean didn't know how long they laid there and just looked at each other, and for once he didn't care about the intense stares, about the lack of personal space. He just enjoyed it, just tried to memorize Cas's face, because in a dark part of his head reserved for only the most horror movie worthy memories, images of Cas exploding at the snap of Lucifer's fingers played over and over again.

He couldn't lose him again. He couldn't take it. He _needed_ Cas, needed him just like he needed Sam. Okay. Maybe not in the same way, but he needed him nonetheless.

Eventually, Dean heard the first birds chirping outside. He sighed deeply. "Cas."

"I know."

Slowly, they rose from bed, stiff bones creaking, and for a second, Dean felt like they were old. Damn old. Old men getting ready for the last hurrah, the last fight, the blaze of glory. And sure, he was only thirty seven and Cas's body was the same age, but those forty Hell years under his old belt always make him feel double his age, at least on the inside. And Cas, Cas was ancient. Cas aged along with time.

They were old, and it felt like the end.

_Stop thinking like that,_ he ordered himself.

On impulse, he seized the angel and brought him close, giving him the tightest embrace he could without jostling his still healing injuries. Cas hugged him back just as fiercely, burying his face in Dean's neck. For a few moments, maybe minutes, they just hung there. Cas smelled like rain and honey shampoo. His thick black hair tickled Dean's cheek.

Dean felt like there was something important to say there - something crucial - but the words stuttered and died on his tongue, because when it came to certain things, he knew very well that he was a coward.

When they finally broke apart, neither of them said a word, just got dressed wordlessly. Dean pulled on jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a flannel, while Cas donned a white button down and black slacks. Once Cas had donned his trench coat and Dean pulled on his olive green jacket, Cas motioned for Dean to follow him.

The monastery was dead silent. Their footsteps echoed loudly, sounding like thunder claps in the quiet.

"I wonder what the angels are doing," Dean said as they pushed open the front doors. There were no signs of the usual angelic guards. Were they gone already? Where was Anthriel?

"I imagine they're donning their armor," Cas answered, his voice almost lost in the chatter of birds from the surrounding trees as they rounded the monastery.

"What, we don't get any? They're just gonna let us get turned into pin cushions?"

The two of them stopped by a small pond hidden in the shade of a fragrant, blooming poplar tree behind the abandoned horse stables. It was peaceful there, really. Being in and around the monastery, he could almost forget that there was a worldwide war going on.

Almost.

"Angelic combat is… complicated. Angel blades – and the Stygian blades as well, I imagine – can subvert any armor. Nothing created by man can withstand the force of divine or infernal weaponry. When angels go into battle with mortal shells, they carve heavy warding into their vessels that act as shields."

"How does anyone ever die?"

"The wards drain the Grace of the angel every time they protect them from a blow. When the angel's Grace is depleted-"

"Bye bye, birdie."

"Yeah."

"What the hell are we supposed to do, then?"

"Technically, we can apply the warding to ourselves. The difference is, the armor will tax our souls, which do not hold nearly as much raw energy as angelic Grace."

"Death said that souls can't be destroyed, though. Couldn't we just keep going forever?" Dean inquired.

"No. Once the soul is diminished to the point of being nearly extinguished, it will most likely fail to sustain the warding and leave you defenseless."

"That's uplifting," Dean grumbled. "So, uh… we have to go all Christmas ham on ourselves to set this up?"

"We have to carve the warding into our flesh, yes," Cas answered. "Take off your shirt."

"Real subtle, Cas. Aren't you at least gonna buy me dinner, first?" Dean said, cracking an awkward smile at the ex-angel.

"Dean, there are no establishments nearby that sell food, I have no money, and on top of that we do not have time to-"

"Joke, Cas. It was a joke." Dean sighed. He stripped off his flannel. Then, grasping the hem of his shirt, he pulled it up and over his head. He hung it on a low-hanging tree branch nearby. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that this is gonna hurt?"

"Yes," Cas answered bluntly, pulling out his angel blade. "Would you like something to bite down on?"

"I'll be fine, man. Once you get ripped apart by hellhounds and tortured for decades, everything else just kind of tickles."

It was a morbid joke, but it still earned him a strained smile from the ex-angel. "Are you ready?"

"Bring it on," Dean said, gesturing for Cas to come forward.

Cas set his left hand on Dean's chest, fingertips grazing his collar bone. Dean shivered involuntarily from the contact. Cas shot him a confused look, removing his hand.

"You just gave me a little zap," Dean lied, because how else was he supposed to explain it? "No big deal."

Cas frowned deeply. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Dean said, a little too quickly. "I mean, it's fine," he amended. "Let's just get this over with, okay?"

Cas nodded, then put his hand on Dean's chest to steady him once more, right over his anti-possession tattoo. He raised his angel blade, and with an apologetic glance, he dug the tip in underneath Dean's left pectoral. Dean winced and let out a low hiss. He could feel Cas hesitate, and Dean grabbed his wrist to stop him from withdrawing. He met the ex-angel's eyes.

"Come on, Cas. You've never been squeamish before. Don't start now. Just do it," he said, voice low and reassuring. Cas actually seemed somewhat freaked out by the droplet of blood trailing down Dean's chest.

"I – I'm sorry," Cas said again. "You… I dislike hurting you."

"Not like you haven't done it before," Dean replied, but he regretted it immediately. He saw the hurt reflected in Cas's eyes. _Damn it._

"I didn't mean that in a bad way, man," he added swiftly. "That whole thing before we dropped Zachariah, I deserved that. I was being a total asshat."

"And when we found the angel tablet?" Cas asked in a monotone, still focused on the small, shallow wound on Dean's chest.

Vivid memories laden with blood, the crunch of broken bones, and cold blue eyes played out in his mind, but he forced them away. He set his hand on Cas's shoulder and squeezed, ignoring the minor shock he received.

"That wasn't you, Cas. That was Naomi, and you broke out of it in the end." He patted Cas's shoulder, and then released him. "It's in the past. Let's just get this show on the road, alright?"

After a long moment, Cas nodded, jaw tight. "Alright."

Cas returned the angel blade to Dean's chest, and Dean did his damndest to act like he was getting a five star massage, because really, did Cas need any more guilt on his shoulders?

They were quiet, for awhile. Eventually, Cas broke the silence. "I wish you would rethink coming with the angels to Israel."

"Yeah, like I'm gonna sit back and let you go in alone." And suddenly, Dean got why Sam looked like he was going to laugh in his face when Dean suggested he should stay behind. The whole concept of him letting Cas go in alone was just ridiculous.

"You don't need to die with me, Dean."

And Dean wanted to ask, _what about falling together?_ But he didn't. Instead he said, "You're not gonna die." And it was loud. Louder than he meant the statement to be. "You hear me? You aren't. You _can't_."

"Many people – angels and demons, rather – will not survive tomorrow. Creatures much stronger than myself. I will be a prime target for the demons and Xaphan's army, as they know that I seek to kill him. My survival is… unlikely."

"Castiel," Dean said his full name sharply, and he reached out and grabbed the ex-angel's free hand that hung loosely at his side, and gripped it tightly in his own. "You are not allowed to die on me. I friggin' _forbid_ it. 'Cause I-" Dean broke off, unsure of what to say, and he seemed to wish ten times a day that he was better with words. "I don't want to live in a world that you're not in, okay?"

Cas froze, his angel blade halting over Dean's sternum. It looked like he was almost done carving in the sigil. He gazed up at Dean with something akin to wonder.

"Dean…" His voice threatened to crack.

"If you go down, I'm going down with you, Cas. We'll either live through this, or we'll go down guns blazing. We'll fall _together_."

"But I don't want you to fall," Cas said, almost desperate.

Dean felt Cas tighten his hold on his hand. Dean swallowed, emotion building in his throat. He interlaced his fingers with Cas's. "Too bad," he said simply.

Cas watched him, sorrow in his eyes. But after a moment, the waves of sadness seemed to recede. "So what you're saying is…" Cas's lips thinned. "You're Thelma, and I'm Louise, and we're going to hold hands and sail off of this cliff together?"

Dean laughed, even though it caused the angel blade to dig painfully into his chest.

"That's pretty much it," he said with a weak smile. "We're gonna get through this, Cas. I promise."

"My friend…" Cas sighed, shaking his head a little. "I worry that may be a promise that you're unable to keep," he said softly. Cas finished off the last of the sigil with a curved line that led up to his heart. Dean gasped as the warding glowed bright blue, and he felt a wave of something indescribable wash over him. After a moment, the light dissipated.

"I'll keep it," Dean said in a low voice, hand still locked with Cas's. "I will."

They just stared at each other, green drilling into blue, a million unsaid things passing between them.

"We are so fucking gay," Dean said abruptly. "We're not even gay, but we're – dude, we're so _gay_."

"I don't understand."

"Didn't really expect you to," Dean replied with a smirk. He released Cas's hand, then made a 'gimme' gesture. "Your turn. I'll tag you up."

"You don't know the sigil."

"Uh, Cas?" He waved at his bleeding chest. "I've kind of got a point of reference."

Cas nodded. "Of course. Right." He handed Dean his sword. Cas quickly unbuttoned his shirt. He tossed it over the bough of the poplar tree, draping it alongside Dean's. Carefully, Dean began replicating what Cas had done. He had to stop himself from flinching every time Cas did.

"Brings back memories," Dean said, trying to distract Cas.

"Does it?"

"Remember Van Nuys?"

Cas's eyes became distant. "It would be difficult not to. I thought I was going to my death."

"Well," Dean said dryly. "You didn't want to live to see me fail, right?"

"Dean... I'm sorry I didn't have more faith in you, then," Cas told him. "I've never been so happy to be proven wrong."

"You had a right not to have any faith in me," Dean responded. "I almost gave in. Was damn close."

"But you didn't."

"That's how it usually rolls with us, right? We almost completely screw the pooch, but just before we tip over the edge, we pull ourselves back... or someone else does."

"I think I have fallen over that edge before," Cas said quietly.

Dean's jaw tightened as he finished off the first half of the sigil. "Maybe we all have." He cleared his throat. "But this isn't apocalypse round one. There isn't some predestined way things are gonna roll. This is all up to us. And honestly, I gotta lot more faith than us than in God, in - in fate, or whatever."

"Some would call that arrogance."

"I call it a winning attitude."

Cas laughed softly. "It very well might be."

They were silent as Dean took another few minutes to finish the sigil. When he was done, he lowered the angel blade. The draw of Cas's shoulders indicated that he was pained, much like Dean was, but Cas buttoned his shirt back up with a completely straight face. Dean tugged his own back on just as the morning sun peeked over the hills.

He heard voices in the distance, the sound of the front doors creaking open.

"Sounds like the angels are almost ready," Dean said, angling his head back towards the monastery. "I guess it's now or never."

"Yes... now or never," Cas echoed. His eyes met Dean's.

And then, Cas leaned forward and kissed him.

Dean froze, shocked, and of course he was idly wondering if it wasn't another trick courtesy of Gabriel.

But no.

It felt real. Felt like Cas, _authentic_ Cas.

It wasn't really anything special, just lips against lips, just pressure, but it was there.

Dean wasn't pulling back.

Cas did, after a moment that was too long and too short all at once. He stared at Dean, no hint of embarrassment on his features.

"What was that?" Dean asked dumbly, and he couldn't help but notice that Cas's lips were still pretty damn close, and wasn't that just interesting?

"It was for luck."

"Ah." Dean wondered if it was normal to swallow five times in ten seconds. "Um." _Say something, Winchester._ "Thanks, man."

Dean then proceeded to punch Cas awkwardly in the shoulder.

_Smooooooooth._

Cas smiled a bit, seeming almost amused. "Let's go meet the others."

"Yeah... yeah, we got a war to fight."

* * *

Once Sam was standing, semi-concious, and dressed, Crowley ordered, "Bend over."

"Uh, Crowley…?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, grabbing Sam by the back of his hair and bending him over the bed himself. He snapped his fingers, vanishing Sam's shirt and leaving him bare. "Believe it or not, Moose, I have absolutely no plans to bugger you. Not currently, anyway."

"You mind explaining to me what you're doing, then? Because I'm getting mixed signals."

"We're going into battle. You're going to need warding, or you're likely to get sliced to ribbons before we can even get Castiel to Xaphan."

"Warding? That'll protect me? How much?"

"Well, don't get it in your head that you'll be invincible, because you won't be. Every time you're hit, it will drain on my essence, but it will at least keep you safe from fatal wounds for awhile. It's the best I can do for you."

Crowley positioned the tip of the blade between Sam's shoulder blades.

"This may smart a bit," Crowley warned him before dragging the blade down Sam's back. Sam hissed at the pain, digging his fingernails into the bed spread.

"What do you mean, it will drain your essence? Will this warding you're doing make you more vulnerable?" Sam asked tightly, making a valiant effort to ignore the knife digging into his back.

"Vulnerable is not a word I would ever use to describe myself," Crowley replied simply. "Will it drain my own wards a bit quicker, yes, but I'm much more confident in my own ability not to get skewered than yours."

Sam was a human. Human meant fragile, and Crowley would be damned if Sam didn't make it through the day, especially if it was because Crowley wasn't willing to go the full mile to protect him.

Another swipe of the knife along his spine. A droplet of blood oozed down Sam's back. The hunter shifted uncomfortably. "Crowley, wait."

Crowley paid him no heed, continuing the carving on Sam's back, holding him firmly in place by the back of his head.

"Crowley. **Stop.** "

Two short slashes. "Can we skip the boy melodrama, by any chance? Here's how this conversation will go: you, being the white knight that you are, will refuse to do anything that could possibly endanger my life. To which I will respond with a rousing speech about how, as an unwilling partner of your heart and mind, I'm going to do every single thing in my not inconsiderable power to keep you alive and safe. We both cry. The end. See how much time we just saved?"

"The last thing I want is for you to die because of me," Sam told him. He tried to move, to stop Crowley from finishing the warding, but with one thought, Crowley had Sam paralyzed.

"I've not intention of martyring myself on your account, so untwist your panties, please. If the angels actually win this, I plan on both of us making it out alive. If the angels lose, well, we're all going to be wiped out anyway, so it won't matter."

"You weren't convinced ether of us we're going to live last night," Sam reminded him.

"I'm still not. But perhaps I'm more motivated to try, now," Crowley responded, drawing a line down to the small of Sam's back. He was still going to leave, still going to go back to Hell... but if he was leaving, he was going to make bloody well sure he was leaving a living, breathing Sam behind. Not a dead body.

Sam almost seemed to smile in spite of the pain. "Am I that good of a kisser?"

Crowley dug the knife in perhaps unnecessarily hard. "Oh, you're a riot, Samantha."

"Is this a bad time to tell you that I'm straight?"

They both knew it was a joke, but Crowley couldn't resist the urge to tease the hunter. Crowley's hand left Sam's hair, and he replaced it at Sam's ass. He leaned over him, chest barely an inch above Sam's bleeding back. Making sure he was breathing directly in Sam's ear, he asked, "Does this feel straight to you?"

Crowley couldn't see Sam's face, but he still knew he was blushing like a schoolgirl. Sam gulped. "Uh. No. Not particularly."

"Mmm. I thought as much." Crowley withdrew, chuckling quietly.

Crowley finished the last few lines of the warding on Sam's back. Through their connection, Crowley could sense that the cuts suddenly seemed superheated, causing a wave of intense warmth to crash over Sam. Sam's thoughts were interesting, in that moment.

Sam felt that he was bound even closer to Crowley now, everything from his life force to his mind to his very blood – the blood that started it all – was intrinsically tied to the demon.

"Are you going to continue mentally waxing poetic, or are we going to do this?" Crowley asked, interrupting his thoughts. Crowley released him, allowing Sam to move again. He backed away.

Sam stood, taking a deep breath. He was worried. Worried to face _true_ war, and Crowley could feel it.

"It'll be horrific," Crowley warned him. "I've seen the kind of battles that nightmares are made of in my time, and I'm quite sure that this will top most anything I've set eyes on."

That didn't seem to do much to calm Sam's nerves.

"It's all for the greater good, Moose."

"Still not reassured."

Crowley simply glared at him. Then, he grabbed Sam by the wrist and yanked him down just enough so that if he stood on his tiptoes, he could kiss him. It was a hard kiss – and Sam felt like Crowley was trying to force bravery into him through his mouth.

Crowley could feel the hunger rise in Sam, but the hunter forced it down as best as he could, instead trying to focus on the feel of Crowley's mouth against his, the warmth of the hand wrapped around his wrist.

Sam was thinking, always thinking. Even in that moment, when Crowley was trying to get him to forget. To lose himself. But no, Sam was thinking about how Crowley smelled like cinnamon, not like sulfur, obviously through some kind of spell or magic, and how he'd always smelled like that, even when he was a pure demon. And how maybe Crowley had always been different, even before the human blood...

"You think too much," Crowley murmured between kisses. "All the time," he added as an afterthought. Maybe he was being selfish, kissing Sam again when he had no intention of sticking around post-battle. But he was a demon, after all... he was entitled to a little selfishness, wasn't he?

Sam put his hands around the back of Crowley's neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Seeking peace. Seeking ignorance. Maybe they were the same thing, in the end.

Someone hammered on Sam's door, forcing them apart, much to Crowley's dismay.

"Sammy! Come on, the angels are getting ready to head out!"

_"Shirt,"_ Sam requested, glancing at Crowley. Crowley snapped his fingers, and Sam was fully clothed once more.

"Ready, Moose?" Crowley asked, a kind of forced cheer about him as they both attempted to catch their breath.

"As I'll ever be. Let's go."

* * *

In front of the monastery, Anthriel, Claire, and the angel Gazardiel were waiting for them.

"Are you adequately prepared?" Anthriel asked, straight-forward as ever.

Nods from everyone.

"Let us go, then."

"Hold up," Charlie said, adjusting the strap of her laptop bag over her shoulder as she scrambled in the pocket of her hoodie. "I've got presents."

After some searching, Charlie pulled out five small, white... well, Dean was pretty sure they were earbuds. "Check it out. This is some serious high-tech spy type stuff. They're earpieces, and it's a satellite uplink, so no matter where you are on Earth, you're still connected to everyone else." She passed them out. "It'll let us all keep in touch."

"Great. Havin' Crowley in my ear," Dean grumbled. "I'll finally know what it's like to be Sam." He fitted it in his ear, and the others all did the same. "These on?" he asked.

"Not yet," Charlie said. "I'll activate them once we all separate. Oh, and my friend who's helping me with the drones is hooked up to us too, so you'll be hearing him."

"Hardison, right?" Dean asked.

"That's him."

Crowley's smirk was almost imperceptible, but Dean still noticed it. He shot him a questioning look, but the demon ignored the obvious silent question and said, "I've got a prezzie as well... though only for Charlie, I'm afraid."

Charlie bounced on her feet at that. "Cool. What is it?"

Suddenly, Crowley's angel gun was in his hand. He offered it to Charlie. "Infinite bullets. Should do in a pinch, if things get... sticky. And not in the fun way."

Charlie accepted the gun. "Hopefully I won't have to use it... but either way, thank you, your Highness." She grinned at the King before stowing the small gun in her front pocket.

"If that's all?" Anthriel asked stiffly.

"We're ready," Dean affirmed.

Anthriel grabbed Dean and Sam. Claire went for Charlie. Gazardiel wrapped his hand around Cas's bicep. Crowley didn't need angelic assistance, of course.

In a breath, they were gone from the monastery.

In another breath, they were standing in a dusty side street in Jerusalem.

There was a deathly stillness about everything... like time had been frozen in place.

"Why is everything so quiet?" Dean asked, standing in what appeared to be an empty market place. He listened intently, but beyond a distant rumble of thunder, Dean heard nothing.

"We've put the city to sleep," Anthriel explained. "We wanted to minimize human casualties once we allow Xaphan's forces to breach the perimeter."

Dean noticed now that there were people asleep in some of the stalls, and there were piles of them dozing peacefully on the side of the dirty road.

"Okay, where do you want us?" Sam asked.

"We have an elite guard set aside for Castiel. They're waiting for you at the American Consulate. Their sole mission is to get you to Xaphan." Castiel nodded to show that he understood. "Crowley, I would like you on the front lines. Make the call for your demons to defect when you see fit. You will, of course, be in command of your men, but please try to coordinate with our forces."

Please? Huh, Anthriel really was desperate for help.

"I'll make best efforts," Crowley said noncommittally.

"Charlie, we have a safe house prepared for you near here where you can operate the drones from. Claire will escort you there and protect you."

"There any room for us in this plan?" Dean asked, gesturing at Sam and himself.

"Go wherever you choose. I have no specific plans for you. Whatever you decide, decide quickly. We break the warding and stop defending the perimeter in fifteen minutes." With that, Anthriel vanished, leaving the five of them standing in the sleeping marketplace.

"Come on, Charlie. You're gonna be set up a few blocks from here in an internet café." Claire nodded towards a nearby side street.

"Okay." Charlie turned to the four of them. "This is it. I guess I'll see you guys on the other side… whatever that is." She hugged Dean, and he squeezed her tightly, resting his chin on the top of her head. He was glad that Charlie would be mostly out of the line of fire. He couldn't stand the idea of losing her, too. He didn't know what it was like to have a little sister, but he was sure that Charlie was the closest that he'd ever had to one.

"Be careful, kiddo," he muttered into her hair.

"What's the fun in that?" Charlie pulled back, giving him a nervous smile before moving to hug Sam, Cas, and surprisingly, Crowley. The demon stiffened for a moment at the contact, but eventually raised his arms and briefly returned the hug. Charlie released him and backed away, seeming reluctant to leave them. She gave them the peace sign. "Later, bitches."

Charlie and Claire disappeared down the street, leaving their sight. The four of them were silent for a moment before Cas spoke.

"I suppose I should head to the Consulate," he said. "Good luck, all of you."

"You're not going alone," Dean said immediately. "I'm coming with you."

"Dean, I told you earlier, my position will be a very dangerous one. There is reason that Anthriel has assigned her best guards to me. Xaphan's main priority – apart from the Man Tablet – is killing me."

"Exactly why you need all the help you can get," Dean argued. "Thelma and Louise, remember? I'm going with you."

Cas looked like he wanted to protest, but Dean knew that the expression on his face told Cas that the matter wasn't up for debate.

"We'll all stick together as much as we can," Sam said. "Crowley, once the demons switch over, can you put Cas and his guard in the middle of them? He'll need the extra protection."

"Using my subjects as demonic meat shields? That's cold, Moose. You've done me proud." Crowley inclined his head. "Once I've got my forces under my command, I'll dispatch them to Cas's location."

"Good," Dean said. "Sammy, you coming with Cas and I, or are you sticking with Crowley?"

"He's staying with me," Crowley answered for Sam. "At least close enough for our link to remain intact."

"I'll still be close," Sam assured them.

Dean huffed out a heavy breath. "Okay. Let's just finish this, and try to do it without getting killed."

"Dean, I wouldn't go hoping that this is gonna have a happy ending. You know that's not how it works for us," Sam reminded his brother in a low voice.

Dean met Sam's eyes. "I can hope, can't I?"

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you shouldn't depend on happy endings," Cas said quietly. "If the world is still standing when all is said and done, then I will be satisfied, regardless of what it costs. We all made the decision to see this through, to risk ourselves for the sake of the human race. If we save them, we can't want for much more."

"Noble," Crowley commented. "But I'm wanting for a bit more than that. World peace is fine, but not dying ranks high on my Christmas list."

"Yeah, well, Sammy's got a point." Dean shrugged. "Generally the big boss fights end with one or more of us dead, or in some alternate plane of existence."

"On that cheerful note." Crowley gestured to the road ahead of them. "Shall we?"

They all nodded, following Crowley down the center of the street.

After walking for a few minutes in silence, Dean said, "Hey… the last few months have been a fucking nightmare. Ever since the angels fell, it's just been one catastrophe after another."

"We know, Dean. We were there," Sam said flatly.

"I'm trying to say something here, okay? Just… a lot of shit's happened. A lot shit's _changed_. And… and I'm glad it did. The four of us sticking together, it's good. We make a good team."

"Team Free Will," Sam mused. "A dropout with six bucks to his name, the guy who was supposed to be the boy King of Hell, the ACTUAL King of Hell, and an angel of the Lord who isn't an angel anymore."

"Go team," Cas said with an almost-smile.

"Do we get to throw Cas in a skirt and pom-poms then?" Crowley asked with a smirk.

"Oh, if anyone's the cheerleader, it's you," Dean said. "You're the newbie. You get the skirt."

"Well I certainly have the legs for it."

"That… is not a mental image I needed," Dean replied with a grimace.

Together, the four of them laughed.

It was the last calm before the storm.


	77. We Will Fall Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Team Free Will finally dives into the fray.

"Can everyone hear me?"

"We can hear you, Charlie," Dean confirmed. He and Cas were at the Consulate, surrounded by no less than twenty angels, all Seraphs, according to Cas. "Is everybody else up and running?"

"Two Winchesters in my ear," Crowley groused. "Joy upon joy."

"I think we're all good," Sam said.

"Okay, awesome," Charlie said. "I've got the surveillance drones in the sky. Everything's quiet right now."

"But it's not gonna be that way for long," a deep, unfamiliar voice added.

"Is that your hacker buddy?" Dean inquired.

"Name's Hardison. I'm here to help. Charlie says you guys are trying to save the world, so, I figure I can get behind that. Even if y'all are supposed to be a bunch of psychotic serial killers with a side helping of religious mania, according to... well, everyone except Charlie."

"Hardison, I told you, they were shapeshifting monsters from Purgatory," Charlie reminded him.

"Whatever you say, girl. Also: who's the British dude?"

"That's Crowley. He's a demon."

" _King_ of the demons," Crowley corrected. "Lovely to meet you, Alec." Dean could only see Crowley's silhouette from where he and Cas were standing – Crowley and Sam were on top of a nearby school, keeping watch – but he was positive the demon was smirking.

Nobody asked how Crowley knew his first name. Truthfully, Dean didn't really want to know.

"Charlie, we're gonna need to have a conversation about the kind of people you hang out with when this is all over," Hardison said, seeming somewhat spooked.

"Oh, Crowley comes off as scary, but he's a teddybear on the inside," Charlie said dismissively.

"I am _not_ –" Crowley started to protest, but Charlie cut him off.

"Hey, I think they're about to break the warding. Get ready, guys."

* * *

Crowley felt it deep in his chest when the warding broke.

A dome of blue light flickered overhead briefly before dissipating in a swift burst. The world seemed to tremble, and Crowley could hear the battle cry of Xaphan's forces in the distance. A victorious shout as the demons and fallen angels poured into the city, either on foot or teleporting inside.

Crowley stood on the rooftop of a school near the Consulate, and it was currently full of sleeping teachers and students. Even from his relatively low vantage point, he had a good view when things went truly haywire. He watched with mild interest as the Heavenly Host's army rose to meet Hell's forces, colliding all over the city at the same time, shaking the very earth.

The delicate calm of Jerusalem's streets was shattered in an instant.

Demons and angels alike flooded the plaza in front of the Consulate in the time it took for Dean and Castiel to draw their blades; he kept careful watch of Dean and Cas, but with the Seraph guard surrounding them, they appeared to be safe for the moment, even swept up in the chaose of battle.

"What's the signal that Laharl told them to look for?" Sam inquired. He was standing next to Crowley, watching the beginning of the battle with a deep frown. Crowley could feel the hunter's disgust and horror at the scene playing out below them. Crowley knew that the coming day (or possibly days) would be a shock to both Sam and his brother. The Winchesters had never seen war before. Not true war, anyhow.

"Simple," Crowley responded as the streets below became more tightly packed with demons and angels by the second. He raised his hand. "Ready to see the tides turn, Moose?"

"Do it," Sam said with a nod.

Crowley focused his energies, closing his eyes. " _Tacta de caelo te accerso,"_ he chanted. Black storm clouds overhead rumbled deeply, and then six bolts of white hot lightning arced down from the sky, one after another.

The change was abrupt, sudden, and gruesome. Demons went from attacking angels viciously to swinging around and burying their blades in the nearest warm body that wasn't fighting for the Heavenly Host. It turned into a mass of bloody, hectic, confusion. Even more so than before.

Excellent.

"Boss."

Sam jumped when Laharl appeared next to them, but Crowley did not. He turned to his right hand man. "Laharl," he greeted.

"What do I tell 'em? Do you care if there's any rhyme or reason, or should I just pass on the order to kill anything and everything fighting for the other side?" Laharl asked.

"I've a more specific mission in mind. Protect Castiel at all costs. You'll know where he is, he has a very distinct aura about him. Make sure he gets to Xaphan without a single hair harmed on his chinny chin chin, do you understand me?"

Laharl nodded obediently. "We'll do our best, boss. What are you two gonna be doing?"

"We're going to fight," Crowley responded easily.

"And…?" Laharl pressed, as if he was expecting more.

"And we're going to _win_."

The other demon seemed satisfied by his answer. "Nice. Alright, I'm off. Call me if you need anything." Laharl promptly vanished. Crowley turned to Sam, who's eyes were fixed on the warring factions below.

"Ready to jump into the fray, Moose?" Crowley asked, gaining his attention.

Sam swallowed, but nodded all the same. It was a common misconception that fearlessness and bravery were one in the same. The exact opposite was true, really. Sam felt fear, but he was facing it head on and choosing to act in spite of it. That was true bravery.

Choices. It always came down to _choices_ , didn't it?

Crowley was surprised to find Sam's hand in his. It was almost comical how much the hunter's hand dwarfed his when he laced their fingers together. He stared at their joined hands, not sure if he should say something or not. Something to give him courage, or some romantic, dramatic one-liner.

Instead, he said, "You look like you're going to be sick. Should I get you a pot, or something?"

Sam almost smiled at that. "I think I'm okay, but thanks."

"You know me. Always looking out for my domestic life partner in crime."

Sam actually laughed at that. "What would I do without you?" It warmed Crowley a little bit that the comment only seemed half-sarcastic.

Crowley smirked. "Crash and burn, obviously."

Their eyes were locked, and Sam's smile faded slowly, a flurry of emotions drifting over their bond. Fear, anticipation, pain, concern, and a hundred other dreadfully human things that made Crowley tense up in all the wrong ways.

But that was Sam. Sam was just so irrevocably... human.

"Let's do this," Sam said, quiet determination in his voice.

Echoing bells rang out from a nearby church belfry, barely heard over the din of battle. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Crowley squeezed Sam's hand. "Yes. Let's."

* * *

Dean thought he knew war.

He was wrong.

Dad had told him stories when he was a kid. Hell, Dean had practically begged him to. After a beer or two, he could generally convince John to tell him some story from the trenches in Vietnam. It had all seemed so heroic to Dean, so amazing. Battling against a known and powerful enemy, instead of monsters hidden in the dark. He was sure now that Dad had embellished and lightened the nature of the stories for Dean's sake. War wasn't some grand adventure, he'd realized that as he'd gotten older.

What he hadn't realized was just what a nightmare it truly was.

He could _breathe_ – he couldn't remember the last time he'd breathed. Blood rushed through his ears, giving him a strange kind of deafness to what was going on around him. His heart was a staccato beat in his chest, like a drummer boy following an army. He couldn't keep track of time, of where he was – anything. All he knew was the clash of blade against blade. The constant fight to stay alive, to stay close to Cas, to move forward.

Only one thing mattered anymore, and that was survival. It was like a well-coordinated dance that everyone but him knew the moves to. It was a constant struggle to keep up, to keep enemy swords away from his vital organs. If it weren't for the warding that Cas had carved into him, he was positive that he would already be dead. He already felt his 'armor' draining him. He didn't even want to guess at how long it would last.

It didn't matter. He just had to get Cas to Xaphan. He tried to keep the ex-angel in sight, but it was incredibly difficult to keep track of Cas in all of the chaos. The storm clouds overhead raged and rumbled with thunder, and occasionally flashed with lightning, but no rain fell, leaving the air charged and humid.

All he could smell was blood and sulfur. His hands were clothes were stained with crimson, like someone had taken a paintbrush to him. He'd never seen death on a such a scale before in his entire life. The battle of Jerusalem put the fights he'd faced in Purgatory to shame.

Dean was a soldier, yes, but not a soldier made for this war.

But... he was still going to put up a hell of a fight.

Because it didn't matter what came at him, he was diving head-on into it with a vengeance. He wasn't going to let today be his end. He wasn't ready for his last chapter.

No, not yet.

* * *

"I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me..."

Dean's voice resonated over the earpiece, sure and deep.

"A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship... but it is not this day..."

"What's he on about?" Crowley asked as he ducked what would have been a fatal strike to his vessel's heart. He impaled the demon that had engaged him through the middle. He planted his foot on the now dead demon's chest, ripping it out with a grunt.

"I believe he's referencing _Lord of the Rings_ ," Cas offered, sounding winded. "He had me watch the trilogy several months ago. I found the story very compelling."

"...An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day!" Dean continued valiantly, seeming deaf to their conversation.

Sam merely rolled his eyes with a mutter of, "Typical."

"This day, we FIGHT!" Dean declared so loudly that Sam winced at his brother's voice in his inner ear. "By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you _stand!_ "

" _The Return of the King_ , dude? Seriously? Is _Braveheart_ not good enough for you anymore?" Sam asked as he sliced the throat of a nearby angel that was clearly on Xaphan's side. A scream, a flash of blinding white-blue light, and then he was dead on the ground. Skeletal wings were scorched into the earth.

"I've never been so proud of you in the entirety of our friendship, Dean," Charlie said sincerely.

"I live to please," Dean said, sounding like he was currently engaged in a fight.

"Charlie, has there been any sign of the Man Tablet yet?" Sam asked.

"Hmm... Xaphan's got a lot of troops over by the Tower of David."

"The Tower of David?" Dean echoed.

"The Citadel of Jerusalem," Crowley explained. "One of the oldest churches in the city."

"It's been a landmark of the city since ancient times," Cas added. "It's on the western side of the Old City, just south of the Jaffa Gate."

"What about Xaphan?" Sam asked.

Silence from Charlie, then, "No sign of him so far... Hardison, do you have anything?"

"Nothing on my end, but I got my eyes peeled. Last I saw him, he was at a synagogue on the northern edge of the Old City."

"Crowley, Sam. You guys should probably head for Tower of David– Cas, Dean, go to the last place we saw Xaphan. It's as good a place as any to start."

"On it," Sam and Dean chorused. Sam made brief eye contact with Crowley, and the two of them began fighting their way through the masses.

* * *

"Where the hell is Xaphan?" Charlie wondered, eyes on the row of monitors that she'd jury rigged to display footage from the UAVs. She sent a command to several of the drones to fly out farther, look closer.

"You think this angel dude's hiding somewhere? Isn't he the big boss? Why's he taking a knee?" Hardison wondered.

"I have absolutely no idea," Charlie answered honestly. "And that really grinds my gears."

"Hey, wait a minute." Claire was pointing to one of the screens. "I think I saw something. That crumbling temple, can you–"

Charlie was already on it. "Zooming in now."

It was a dilapidated shrine to something-or-the-other, probably out of use since long before even Crowley was born, but she could make out a few figures standing guard outside. Charlie narrowed her eyes. "We might've hit paydirt," she said, mostly to herself. "Crowley! I've got a job for you!"

"Bit busy," the demon growled out, and she heard the echo of swords clattering.

"Ugh." Charlie looked to Claire. "Hey, tell Anthriel to send some angels to Sam and Crowley's location. I think they could use a hand."

Claire nodded, eyes closing for a second. Then she said, "It's done."

* * *

Suddenly, Sam and Crowley went from having the support of about five angels and a few dozen demons to being veritably surrounded by tree toppers. The mess of Xaphan's forces Crowley and Sam had been entangled with fell almost startlingly fast, leaving them in a street full of bodies reeking of sulfur, with the occasional angel corpse interspersed.

_"Awfully prompt, aren't they?"_ Crowley mentally muttered to Sam. "Now darling, what was that errand you wanted me to run?"

"Just need you to check out a temple about twenty miles outside of the city. It looks like Xaphan has some of his bruisers guarding something there. I just texted you the coordinates."

Crowley pulled out his phone, checking the coordinates before stowing it again. "I'll go stick my nose where it doesn't belong, then."

Crowley grabbed Sam by the shoulder, and they vanished from sight. When they reappeared, they were in the shadow of a tree that appeared to have been struck by lightning. It was just a series of jagged black fingers reaching up into the darkened sky, now. Crowley pulled Sam behind the tree quickly, so as to avoid being noticed.

"How many guards?" Sam whispered over the channel.

"Three on the outside. I don't know if they're angels or demons, but I'm guessing they're angels, if the stick-up-the-butt look is any indication," Charlie provided.

Crowley bent around the tree, narrowing his eyes. He saw two of the three guards Charlie mentioned, and after a quick examination of them on the higher planes, he knew she was right. Angels. He drew his angel blade. _"You take the right, I take the left?"_ Crowley asked Sam.

_"Sounds good to me."_

Crowley teleported so he was directly behind the hulking angel to the left of the temple's entrance. In a breath, he'd beheaded him. The traitorous angel fell and collided with the ground heavily, eyes and mouth glowing. Just a few moments later, Crowley heard sounds of a brief struggle and a muffled gasp of pain.

Bright white light, then from around a crumbling pillar, Sam emerged.

"Where's the third?" the hunter asked, trying to scrape the blood off of his hands.

And then, a slim, shadowy figure appeared behind Sam.

"Right there!" Crowley exclaimed. Sam turned just in time to see the Stygian blade sailing towards his chest. Sam brought up his angel blade, barely able to block it. The blow sent him back several feet, nearly stumbling and hitting the ground. Crowley sent a jet of flame toward their attacker, and the angel caught fire.

It distracted the feather duster just enough for Sam to jam an angel blade through his skull.

Breathing hard, they stared down at the bodies. "Bloody angels," Crowley said. He gestured towards the archway. "After you, Moose."

Blade out in front of him, Sam carefully moved forward, Crowley at his heels. Most of the temple was crumbled and exposed to the harsh elements, worn down and practically dust and rubble in places. However, once they were at the far east end, Crowley saw a thick wooden door that led to a recessed part of the once-holy place that was still closed off.

"Can you sense anything?" Sam asked.

Spreading out his awareness, Crowley tried to gauge what was ahead. _"Two angels... a demon... and..."_ He blinked in surprised, sensing an un-possessed mortal soul not twenty meters away. " _And a human?"_

"Why the hell is a human here?"

"I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"

With a nod, Sam kicked open the door.

* * *

"DUCK!"

Cas obeyed the shouted order from Dean, and abruptly the hunter was leaping over him to tackle down a demon. Cas turned, sword out, and saw Dean stabbing his angel blade into the demon's heart with a vengeance.

"Bastard was going for you," Dean explained breathlessly, rising to his feet just in time to dodge a strike from another demon and separate his head from his shoulders.

Mount Moriah rose like an obelisk in the distance, the Dome of the Rock seeming bright even in the barely-there sunlight filtering through the thick, dark overcast clouds. The ground shook every step closer they got to Xaphan's last location, and not once, but several times, Cas saw enormous skyscrapers in the modern part of the city crumble with a loud groan.

The sky was muddled with smoke and clouds of dust. The city – the holiest city on earth – was being torn apart limb from limb. It saddened him deeply that such a sacred place was being desecrated by not just the forces of Hell, but the forces of Heaven.

Humans weren't the only ones who liked to rip things to pieces, to break things. No, angels did too, but angels took no fault in the destruction they caused, branded it 'righteous' without hesitation.

Angels had been desensitized to obliteration of things created by the hands of man, rather than God. They'd seen so many human things rise and fall, they thought they were above them, far above them. Jerusalem was just another city that would crumble, just like all of the great cradles of civilization before it.

Before the day was out, all of Jerusalem would be burning.

He could only hope they wouldn't burn with it.

* * *

"Sam? Crowley? Can I get a status report or something?" Charlie asked, eyes trained on the drone footage from the small temple. She received nothing but dead silence. A quick check on her laptop showed that their earpieces were still broadcasting. She groaned. "HEY! Stop with the telepathy, you two!"

"Kinda in the middle of something," came Sam's rushed response. "Agh, _bastards_."

There were sounds of a struggle, but it didn't seem like either Crowley or Sam were hurt in the process.

Then, there was a sharp intake of breath that sounded like Crowley, but she couldn't be sure.

Silence, and then the demon whispered, _"Daityas."_

* * *

Two angels were dead at Sam and Crowley's feet, but that wasn't what they were currently focused on.

No, the thing that drew their attention was the demon several paces in front of them.

The demon that Sam saw flashes of in Crowley's head in moments of quiet, when Crowley's eyes glazed over and his thoughts drowned in dark recollections. Not always the same face, but that look in his eyes... unmistakably, it was Daityas. A new vessel, yes, but unquestionably him.

Crowley's torturer.

Cas's torturer.

Kevin's torturer.

"Hello Fergus," the demon said, and Sam was worried, very worried, because even more pressing than the matter of the demon's presence was the fact that he had a red-headed woman by the hair, holding her tight and close, and he had a Stygian blade pressed to her throat. She looked young, probably a few years younger than him, and it was obvious she was terrified.

He was confused as to why the woman was there. What purpose would a human serve–

_"Look. The Angel Tablet."_

And then Sam saw the tablet on a small wooden table backed into the corner, and he looked at the woman again, and he realized that holy shit, she was Kevin's successor. The demons had the newest prophet on hand in Jerusalem, ready to translate the Man Tablet at a moment's notice.

"We're going to get you out of there, I promise," Sam told the woman.

"If you could hurry with that promise, that would be _great_ ," she said waveringly, eyes wide and continuously darting down to the blade at her neck.

"I had a feeling I'd be seeing you again very soon, Fergus." Daityas's too-white smile widened. "Lovely day to end the world, wouldn't you say?"

"Let her go!" Sam demanded.

"Oh, well, since you asked so nicely..." Daityas pressed his Stygian blade into the woman's throat enough to elicit a wince and draw a thin line of blood.

"Are we really going to play this game again?" Crowley challenged, and there was strength in his voice, defiance, but Sam knew that wasn't what he felt on the inside. "I beat you once before, and I'll beat you again."

"Beat me? Hardly. You were too weak to kill me last time, and now here I stand," the Crossroads demon mocked.

"You want to talk about _weak?_ Look who keeps hiding being prophets. You're a coward."

"Self-preservation is cowardice now, is it? Odd sentiment, coming from a demon. Not that you're much of a demon anymore." Daityas's gaze switched toe Sam. "After all, what kind of demon falls in love with a human. Especially with a _hunter_..."

Sam could see Crowley freeze out of the corner of his eye, and he felt a burst of fear over their link. Under normal circumstances, the information would have caused Sam's thoughts to stall out completely, but not today.

Today, it just fueled the fire already building in his veins. Because he kept seeing _flashes_ – brief and vivid visions, memories from the depths of Hell itself. The feeling of being destroyed brick by brick, of being violated and torn down, only to be piece back together into something else... something _evil_. Something poisonous and wrong.

There was black, endless black, an infinity devoid of hope, filled with nothing but– _God_ , those eyes were so cold–

Crowley's walls were toppled, and everything was suddenly a flood. Centuries of pain, and all Sam could hear was laughing, and he was so freezing, so chilled, everything felt like glass ready to shatter with a breath of wind.

_Snap._

And then it was the Cage, and Daityas's face was melding with Lucifer's, and Sam didn't know if it was him screaming or Crowley, but all he knew that moment was fear and agony and he was so fucking cold yet he was _burning to death_ –

Sam blinked.

Next thing he knew, he was on top of Daityas, and somehow the demon's own Stygian blade was in Sam's grasp, in his grasp but then he was stabbing the demon with it, in the throat, the stomach, the chest, anywhere he could because his blood was superheated, and everything was painted red, and–

_You hurt him, you hurt Crowley, you hurt Cas and Kevin, you hurt my family and **I WILL MAKE YOU HURT**_ –

"Sam!"

Hands were pulling him up. Away. Small hands that were strong, too strong. _Crowley._ He tried to resist, because the blood gurgling out of Daityas's mouth (he could smell it, and that's bad, that's _so_ bad), his eyes rolling back into his head, the strangled sounds coming from his throat, they weren't enough. There was no amount of pain Daityas could feel that would ever satisfy Sam.

But the hands were stronger than him, and Sam was pulled up to his feet. Then there were arms around his waist, holding tight, and heard just one word, both aloud and in his head:

_"Stop."_

Slowly, Sam began to return to himself.

There was blood everywhere. Sam was soaked up to his forearms, and his shirt was much the same. Daityas was dead, that much was clear. With a great shudder, he dropped the stolen Stygian blade to the ground with a loud clatter that made him flinch.

The table that the Angel Tablet had been resting on was toppled over, and the Angel Tablet was now in broken pieces on the floor. The prophet, the woman whose name he still didn't know, she was sitting on the ground, staring up at him in revulsion and terror as she clutched her still bleeding neck.

Crowley. Crowley was still behind him, hugging him, trying to give him a sense of peace over their bond without saying a word.

"I..." His heart was beating so fast it was almost disorienting. "I'm okay. I think I'm okay now."

He wasn't. He knew he wasn't, and he was sure Crowley knew that too, but they had bigger problems to deal with right now.

Crowley released him, but the comforting waves from the demon continued. Crowley went to the prophet, kneeling down to look her in the eye.

"Can you tell me your name, darling?" he asked, voice soft and calming. Coming from any other person, it would've seemed caring, but Sam knew it was a standard manipulation tactic. Warm eyes, gentle voice. Reach out with your hand open, not closed. Scared people were really just scared animals, in the end.

"Ronnie," she said shakily. "My name's Ronnie."

"That short for something?"

She nodded, seeming wary of him. "Veronica."

"Veronica. Lovely name. Well, Veronica, we're going to get you out of here. But I need to know: did you hear them say anything about a Man Tablet?"

"Yeah, yeah. The demon, Daityas, he said something about it being in the... I think they said _Kotel_."

"The Wailing Wall," Crowley said immediately. "Bollocks. They're trying to misdirect us, get us to clamor at the Tower of David while they search for the Man Tablet at the Wailing Wall."

"Well, it's not going to work," Charlie declared. "Claire, tell Anthriel to get everyone to the Wailing Wall that they can spare."

There was murmured assent in the background.

Crowley offered Ronnie his hand "Let's get you somewhere safe, shall we?"

"There are angels and demons after me. Is anywhere really safe?" she asked, seeming exhausted as she grabbed Crowley's hand and allowed him to pull her up to her feet.

"Well, aren't you just sharp as a tack?"

"We can't keep her in the city," Sam reasoned. "It's too dangerous."

"I can take care of that, I think," Charlie piped up. "Hey Hardison, you mind having some company over there?"

"Uh, depends on the company."

"Cute redhead prophet?"

"Not sure how much Parker'll like it, but yeah, I can keep an eye on her."

"Awesome. Claire?"

A second later, Claire appeared in front of them. She turned to Veronica. "Are you okay?"

Veronica took a deep breath. "Um... as okay as I can be, given..." She gestured around her. "All of this."

Claire then looked at Crowley and Sam. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Right as rain. Spirit her away now, will you? Having a prophet on our side of the board is exactly what we need," Crowley told her.

"Got it." Claire gathered up the remains of the angel tablet, and then reached out to Veronica. In two blinks, they were gone, leaving Sam and Crowley alone. Crowley immediately went to Sam, putting hands on his biceps and doing his best to look him in the eye... not an easy task, given their significant height difference.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was, Moose?" Crowley asked lowly.

Sam gulped. "I saw Daityas, and everything you felt... everything he did to you... it kind of poured into me all at once, and it... uh, it brought up some memories of my own. Lucifer. The Cage." He found it hard to continue, but he forced himself to press on. "I saw red. The next thing I knew, I was on him."

"Did you see what you did?"

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Crowley removed his earpiece, and then popped Sam's out as well, giving them time for a brief private conversation before Charlie would grow worried.

"Sam. You used your powers."

Sam stared at Crowley, trying to find some sign of falsehood in the demon's eyes or mind, but he saw nothing, saw nothing but a memory playing out in Crowley's head. Daityas and Veronica getting thrown to the ground, the table flipping, the tablet shattering... all without Sam touching either of them, without him even _moving_.

Shocked, Sam argued weakly, "But I haven't done that in years... I can't even remember the last time my powers came out when I wasn't on demon blood."

"Must be the all the adrenaline," Crowley said, but he knew that Crowley didn't really believe that, nor did Sam. Things to worry about later, he supposed.

"Must be." Sam noticed then that the demon actually looked shaken.

"Nevertheless... thank you," Crowley said, releasing him and taking a step back.

"Why..." And then it clicked. "I... I should've let you kill him. You've earned that much."

"Normally, I'd be put out that you stole my chance at vengeance... but you know, what you just did to him? I think that's better. Getting killed by the King of Hell, that's one thing, but getting killed by a human? Oh, I _hope_ shame was the last thing he felt. I really, truly do." Crowley grinned at him briefly, sadistic glee in his eyes.

He could almost forget sometimes, that Crowley was a demon. Now was not one of those times.

But it was okay. Because he loved that part of him, too.

_"What kind of demon falls in love with a human?"_

No. No time for a crisis about that. They had to get back out there.

"Are you good?" Crowley asked, and his tone was grave. _Are you sane enough to keep going with this?_ was what Sam heard.

"No. I'm good." He tried to say it in a way that would leave no room for argument.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, but he didn't challenge him. They both put their earpieces back in. "Charlie, where should we go–"

"The Wailing Wall," Charlie answered before Sam could finish. "That 'hour of wolves' Dean was talking about? I'm pretty sure that's like, right the hell _now_."

Crowley grabbed Sam's arm, and in between one of the hunter's heartbeats and the next, they were gone.


	78. Kingdom Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which pretty much everything's on fire, and Crowley reclaims what is rightfully his.

"Alright guys, it's time to pull out all the stops. Xaphan's forces are already laying into the Wailing Wall. It's only a matter of time before it's in pieces, and one of those pieces might just be the Man Tablet. _This_ is Level 256. _This_ is Dracula's Castle. Xaphan is Bowser, and that tablet is Princess Peach, and you better rescue her – it, _whatever_ – before we run out of continues."

"Charlie, probably should've said somethin' before now, but the video game metaphors don't really do anything for us," Dean said as he and Cas (along with what was left of their angelic guard) raced down an alley in the Old City, trying to stay steady in spite of the tremors rocking the earth underneath their feet.

"Oh, come on. I at least expected you to get the Pac-Man reference," Charlie huffed out. "Uh... it's double overtime and you need to score a touchdown?" she tried instead.

"Better, I guess. Sam, Crowley, where are you?"

"Right behind you." Dean jumped when he felt the demon's breath on his neck. Dean and Cas whirled around, and Sam and Crowley were on their heels. They both looked sweaty and had a few scrapes and bruises, but overall, the two of them appeared to be fine.

"We need a strategy," Cas said, looking between the three of them. "How are we going to go about this?"

"Utter and complete destruction," Crowley replied immediately. "It's time to roll out the big guns... I can feel it. The tides changing. More demons are defecting by the second. Once the majority is fighting for me, rather than _against_ me, well... I'll be the King again. In more than just name."

"You're saying you'll be able to Hulk out once enough of them switch sides?"

"My power will put any of Xaphan's cronies to shame, once I can dip back into the Hell souls," Crowley confirmed.

The King raised his hand, muttered something in Latin, and then three lightning strikes streaked out of the clouds and collided with the ground. Dean heard screaming in the distance. More heat lightning bounced in the dark gray mire overhead, and Dean didn't know if Crowley was doing that, or if it was just natural.

"It's time to pull out all of the stops, gentlemen. Destroy anything and everything that gets in your way. You two get to Xaphan, and Moose and me will get the tablet, provided it's actually there... we'll be home in time for dinner."

Cas tightened his grip on his borrowed archangel blade, and the thing didn't just have a few sparks jumping up and down its length now. Cas had practically turned the thing into a bug zapper. Just being near it made the hairs on Dean's arms stand up on end. Cas was utilizing every ounce of the energy of the trials pumping through him, to the point where he seemed to be glowing, almost.

"Let's go," Cas said lowly, determination in his eyes. "We have no time to waste." He turned to the four seraphs that were left of the original guard Anthriel had assigned to them. Cas rattled off specific orders to them, falling flawlessly into the role of leader, of strategist. It was times like then that Dean remembered just what Cas was at his base: a soldier.

A tremor that sent the world spinning sideways forced Dean and the others down to the ground with a series of grunts. The building next to them promptly collapsed with an ear-splitting groan and crack, raining debris and dust down on them. Dean smelled smoke, and a moment later, it was clogging his nose and lungs. Coughing and struggling for air, he pushed to his knees, trying to see through the chaos. The alley was full of movement now, and the smell of sulfur in the air warned him of demons. If the clashing blades were any indication, they were not Crowley's troops.

"Crap, they've found you–" Charlie chimed over the earpiece.

"Kinda figured that out for ourselves, kiddo!" Dean shouted, rolling just in time to avoid getting a Stygian blade to the throat. He scrambled to his feet, still barely able to see, but he swung his sword blindly anyway. He was satisfied when he felt the blade cleave through flesh and the distinct _thunk_ of a disembodied head hitting the ground.

"Who's here?" Crowley yelled over the commotion. "Is it Xaphan?"

"It's EVERYBODY," was Charlie's slightly frantic response.

Dean was tackled to the ground, face colliding hard with the pavement. Everything was a mess, disordered chaos, dust and dirt and blood. He tried to buck the demon off, but it held on tightly, pinning Dean to the ground. He felt something rip up his back, tearing shirt to skin to muscle. He screamed because _fuck,_ it burned, like some kind of cold fire. A Stygian blade, then.

"Dean!" Cas's voice snapped hard over the earpiece, rough with concern. A few seconds later, the demon on top of him rolled off, thoroughly dead, and hands were pulling him back to his feet. Cas was there, breathing hard. Cas clapped his shoulder, right over where his handprint scar was, and Dean received a mild shock that left his arm tingling.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Well, he felt like his back was turned to ice and slowly chipping off piece by piece, but he wasn't about to tell Cas that.

"Fucking peachy. Thanks for the save." Dean barely managed to finish his sentence before someone else launched at them. Dean brought up his sword just in time to stab the oncoming demon in the stomach. He twisted and shoved the angel blade upward.

With a flash of orange light, he was down.

Dean could barely see through the smoke.

"Where are you guys?" Dean shouted over the din of noise, grabbing Cas by the sleeve and pulling him to the side of the alley against the building that was still standing, trying to avoid the brunt of the fighting while he made sure Sam and Crowley were alright.

"We got pushed into the plaza," came a somewhat breathless response from Crowley. "Moose got knocked out from the blast."

"Where is he now?" Dean asked, heart skipping several beats.

"Crowley dropped him off here," Charlie provided. "He should come to in a couple of minutes."

"We're heading towards you," Dean informed Crowley.

"Best hurry up then, my little lost ducks... things are getting very hairy very fast."

More demons – and a few angels, if the glowing blue eyes were any indication – flooded into the alley.

"We have to fight our way out," Dean said. "This is gonna be a friggin' blast."

Two deep breaths, and he and Cas rushed forward into the oncoming crowd.

Time had little meaning after that, and if it did, it wasn't measured by seconds and minutes, but of deaths created and avoided.

It takes Dean and Cas twenty-four bodies and approximately eleven almost-deaths to finally battle their way into the center of the plaza, where Crowley, Laharl, and a sizable group of demons were fighting valiantly (if such a term could ever be applied to demons) and doing a decent job of fighting their way through the masses. Dean had to grudgingly admit that Crowley was damn impressive in a fight; the demon barely seemed to have more than a few flesh wounds, and he was zapping all over the place, a trail of corpses in his wake.

Being friends with the King of Hell certainly had its advantages.

The Wailing Wall was surrounded thickly, angels and demons clamoring all along the base. A giant crack ran through a large portion of it. A constant earthquake ripped through the earth, all a side effect of the constant assault on the lone wall that stretched for over a quarter mile. Dean didn't understand how the Wall hadn't already crumbled into dust, with the kind of force being exerted on it.

"How is that thing still standing?" Dean muttered, more to himself than anyone else, but Charlie answered him anyway.

"It has to be magically reinforced somehow. It's the only explanation."

"Which means that the Man Tablet must be inside," Cas reasoned, his statement almost drowned out as a nearby synagogue burst into spectacular flames. A wave of heat seared over them, hot as hell but not enough to burn either Dean or Cas. "So Xaphan _is_ here?"

"Oh yeah," Charlie said. "He's the one doing most of the damage. Most of his army is just fending off our guys while he tries to break the piggy bank. There's a knot of angels around him that's twenty deep. Getting to him is going to be nearly impossible."

"Thankfully, impossible is what we do best," Crowley responded. "Onwards and upwards, boys."

* * *

Crowley felt it the instant that Sam woke up. His connection to Sam had been quiet, only a mild thrumming that meant yes, the moose was still alive. When his awareness sparked back, Crowley was gone in a flash, reappearing at his side. He'd been laid down in the internet cafe that Claire and Charlie had set up shop in. A bunched up hoodie was underneath his head, courtesy of Charlie. He blinked his eyes open just as Crowley arrived.

"What–"

"Blast knocked you out," Crowley answered before Sam could finish his statement. "Normally I would've just healed you, but given our current circumstances–"

"You need to save your energy."

"Yes. Not to mention, I suspect you were dropped on your head a great deal as a child, so no biggie really."

"Thanks for that."

"Anytime." Crowley grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him to feet. "Do you need a minute?'

"No, I'm fine."

"Good, because we don't have a minute." Crowley's eyes briefly met both Claire and Charlie's. "Ladies."

"Good luck out there," Charlie said, attention not leaving the line of monitors.

"Don't die," Claire added encouragingly.

"We'll make best efforts." Hand still in Sam's, he transported them back into the fray, barely two feet from Dean and Castiel.

Sam promptly nailed a demon that was fighting Dean in the face with a high kick, sending him flying backwards. He followed through by diving to the ground and stabbing him in the throat.

Dean grinned. "Good to have you back, Sammy!"

The Wall trembled and shook under the force of the angelic and demonic barrage. Its already crumbling frame was breaking apart fast, too fast. Crowley and Sam tried to speed their progress through the crowd, but they were pushed back, swept away by the tide of battle.

It was heat, and pain, and endless, endless _pressing_. It was a never-ending fight for space and movement, to direct the tide, rather than to be controlled and ultimately drowned by it. Crowley had long since abandoned his method of conserving his powers as soon as they'd fought their way out of the alley. Now was not the time to hold back. Now was the time to act.

But he found himself slipping, really, focusing more on protecting Sam than getting to the Wall, getting to the Man Tablet. Often times he found himself blasting away the demons surrounding Sam, and then dragging him through the brief opening by the wrist.

"We need to step up our game _,"_ Crowley said, frustrated by their lack of progress. More of the Wall was falling by the second, and no amount of magic could stand up to something of archangel-level power indefinitely.

"How?" Sam asked through gritted teeth, landing an impressive spin-kick on the head of a nearby angel before driving his angel blade into her chest.

_"Well. You did use your powers back there..."_

_"If you're expecting me to replicate that–"_

_"Just let it flow, Moose. How hard could it be?"_

_"Incredibly hard! Unless I start choking down demon blood–"_

_"Hmm. That's not a bad idea."_

_"Crowley!"_ Sam snapped, clearly not a fan of that plan.

_"Oh, don't get your boxers in a twist. I have another theory in mind."_

_"I don't like it when you get theories."_

_"It's a **good** theory!"_

A mental sigh, then, _"I'm going to regret asking, but what is it?"_

_"We've been connected for a good long while now. Months. And I think, given the high stress and adrenaline, and the fact that your soul and brain are currently in a committed relationship with my very demonic being... well. Things might be bleeding over a bit."_

Sam seemed to take a few moments to process that.

_"You think that you're somehow jumpstarting my powers,"_ Sam surmised.

_"And they say a college education is worthless in this day and age."_

_"So what are you planning to do?"_

_"Isn't it obvious? This."_

And with that, Crowley sent the biggest burst of power he could muster over their link. A transfer of demonic energy was trickier than just the transmission of a thought or a feeling, a memory, but it was doable, with a bit of effort.

_"Fire in the hole,"_ he warned.

He could feel the flare from Sam, who was about six feet behind him, dueling with a demon who surprisingly enough actually seemed to have some ounce of command over swordplay... but then suddenly there was an aura around Sam. Sam always had a kind of faint darkness about him, like a black outline drawn by a charcoal pencil that surrounded every inch of him. Anyone with eyes that could really see knew that Sam Winchester wasn't wholly human. Wasn't... pure. Not in the traditional sense, anyway.

But now? Oh, now the black was spreading and pulsing... little red veins running through it, giving it a new life.

The surge seemed to strengthen their connection. For a brief moment, Crowley saw through Sam's eyes, saw him raise his hand, focusing on the demon, _feeling_ the new dark energy inside of him, the power of Yellow Eyes and the King of Hell both bolstering him to a new level of lethal, without an ounce of demon blood touching his lips.

It was a win-win.

The demon coughed out his black smoke, and the empty vessel collapsed to the ground at Sam's feet.

Back in his own head, Crowley felt drawn to Sam, and the new, unique power he radiated. He drew closer to him, relieving two demons of their heads on the way. He pressed his back up against Sam's, smirking, taking a few seconds to catch his breath before an angel was launching herself full force at Crowley and he was forced back on the defensive. Sam was similarly engaged with a male angel on his side.

_"How's that for a pick-me-up?"_ Crowley practically purred over their link.

Sounding somewhere between shocked and satisfied, Sam said, _"Yeah... wow, yeah, that'll definitely do the trick. How long can you keep this up for?"_

_"Oh, I can go for hours, love."_

Sam snorted. "I don't want you to drain yourself," and he said it aloud that time, and Crowley managed to hear it over the muffled scream of the angel he just impaled through the heart. Crowley gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, even knowing full-well that Sam couldn't see him.

Yes, he was starting to... _drag_ , just a little... but it wasn't showing. He was making damn well sure it wasn't. Okay, so he was fairly sure he'd torn some of the stitches on his chest, and he could feel blood soaking through his shirt, and bloody hell did it _hurt_ , and every blow to Sam that was blocked by the warding felt like someone digging a knife into his back, and his energy was already flagging a worrying amount–

_Enough._

He was fine. He had to be fine.

_"You've more important things to worry about than me,"_ Crowley eventually said, and he managed to quell the argument, at least for the time being.

So they fought on, getting closer to the Wall, and they were moving a hell of a lot faster now that Sam was effectively on demonic steroids, without the negative side effect of his moral compass getting shattered into tiny bits and his eyes turning black. Sure, he was bleeding out the nose a little, but all in all, a small price to pay for a pumped up Winchester.

Ah, if only Dean could be so useful. Though Squirrel was proving himself to be at least decent at keeping himself alive. He and his angel had both sustained an interesting collection of injuries, but between his own relative skill with his angel blade and Castiel's God-given bug-zapping powers, they were doing alright for themselves.

Charlie kept them constantly updated on the opposition's movements. Anthriel was apparently at the helm of the Heavenly Host's forces, engaged in an extravagant battle with Nisroc while Xaphan continued tearing away at the Wall. Any angel or demon who attempted to get in his way was quickly turned into a smoking burn mark on the ground.

Crowley asked if she could give him some kind of casualty count.

She could not, but she did say, "A lot."

He asked which side.

She said both.

And then Crowley mumbled what was probably a chess metaphor or maybe just something witty about Sam's ass, lost in thought about how exactly they were going to give that giant feathered idiot the attitude adjustment he so desperately needed _and_ get the Man Tablet before he could have one of his cronies cart it off to parts unknown. True, Veronica was liberated and semi-safe, but that was the operative term: semi.

More buildings were collapsing by the second, and damn it if the air itself didn't taste like blood and fire. Thunder rumbled, a dragon's roar in dark gray skies, streaked with the pale red of heat lightning. Burnt ozone and sulfur hang heavy all around them, the mark of hundreds of dead demons and angels.

It felt like end of the world. For real, this time.

They needed the tablet.

They needed Xaphan dead.

"We're going to have to destroy the Wall ourselves," Crowley decided eventually.

Dean and Cas spoke at the same time, a gruff, "The fuck would we do that for?" colliding with a firm, "That seems counterintuitive."

"Because we need to get to it _first_ ," Crowley growled, and he truly detested explaining things when he was making a conscious effort not to die. "The Wall goes down, we get the tablet and take out Xaphan in the chaos. Everyone's happy, yeah?"

"Except the part where that gets us all killed and nobody's happy," Dean replied tightly.

"No risk, no reward. It's time for the Queen's Gambit."

"Crowley, this is unnecessarily risky. We have almost reached Xaphan–" Cas began to argue, but Sam cut him off.

"Crowley's right. If we're not the first ones to get a hold of the tablet, we'll never see it again," the hunter reasoned. "We can do this. We have to do this."

"Although I'm really going to regret saying this if you get guys end up getting murdered... I'm voting for the 'break everything' plan," Charlie said. "Go, uh, kick the soccer ball into the goal? Or something?"

She really was trying. Bless her heart.

"Fine. But if we die, I blame you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Squirrel."

Crowley dispatched Laharl to inform the others of the new orders: destroy the Wall. Claire scampered off to pass on the message to Anthriel.

The four of them pressed forward.

The real fun was about to begin.

_"Moose. Can you clear a path?_

_"I can try."_

"Oi, you lot. Pull around Moose. Keep him protected," Crowley ordered over the earpiece.

"Why?" Castiel asked.

"He's going to get us to the Wall."

"How?" Dean that time, and why couldn't they leave their questions for _after_ the presentation was finished? Honestly.

"I gave him a little... boost."

_"I swear to God if you gave him demon blood–"_ The threat didn't surprise Crowley, but he cut Dean off before he could get earnestly into his tirade.

"I didn't. I'll explain the intricate details of demonic energy transference at a later date. For now? Keep your brother from getting mauled and watch the fireworks."

Mercifully, Cas and Dean choose not to argue with him, and the three of them pulled into a tight knot around Sam.

Crowley killed an angel and two demons by the time Sam's hand was in the air and he'd fully prepared himself for what he was about to try. His back was once against pressed to Sam's, so he couldn't see what he was doing, but he could _feel_ it, like a mini-nuclear reactor behind him.

Almost ear-piercing screaming followed, and it could be heard even over the chaos of the battle, over the shouts of dying angels and demons and crack of collapsing buildings, the snap and pop of flames and _rumble-rumble_ of thunder. For a brief moment, Crowley was sucked into Sam's head, and he saw it: dozens of demons fighting for the opposition, exorcised and spiraling out of their meat suits, black smoke swirling up towards black sky, like it was going home.

Of course, their home was somewhere much lower, but let it never be said that he wasn't one to wax poetic.

Bodies collapsed to the ground, and now they had a way forward.

"Nice," Dean said appreciatively.

"Done me proud, Moose," Crowley said, but he was somewhat worried by the wave of exhaustion that seemed to flood the hunter. Crowley swung around so he was facing him, and blood was pouring out of Sam's nostrils. He looked about ready to collapse.

"Might've shot too high," Sam managed.

Crowley wrapped his hand around Sam's wrist. "You're too ambitious for your own good." He lent another burst of energy to Sam, and it seemed to straighten his spine, at least to some degree.

"Thanks."

But there wasn't any time for thanks, and Crowley was pulling Sam forward, with Castiel and Dean on either side of him. They raced towards the wall, only thirty meters away now. Halfway to the base, an enormous section crumbled, raining mini-van sized boulders down on the demons and angels gathered at the bottom. They were promptly crushed underneath. They weren't dead, of course, but they definitely wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

Crowley muttered an incantation under his breath, once again summoning lightning from the sky to strike, that time directly at the most compromised part of the Wailing Wall. The crack that weaved through the biggest remaining portion widened. Another twenty seven more or so, and it might actually break.

More. They needed _more..._

Even with two armies unleashing their full power on the Wall at once, there was just no telling when it would fall... and more importantly, which blow would destroy it. And it needed to be a strike from their side. They had to be the ones knocking over the Jenga tower.

Crowley would've further considered the problem if he hadn't been hit by a speeding mass, tackling him to the ground hard. _Ouch_. Concrete to the head was never fun. Crowley could smell angel, and he turned, struggling under the celestial jackass who was trying to tear him in two. He knew the bloodthirsty face above him, had seen him through Sam's eyes.

Nisroc.

The angel who had orchestrated the mass defection that left them homeless, Casless, and prophetless. Apparently Anthriel's fight with him had ended; he wouldn't be surprised if the female angel was busy trying to crawl out from underneath one of the boulders. Crowley couldn't help but be pleased that Nisroc had chosen to attack him; he would admit to fantasizing about killing that particular feather duster. Crowley launched a fist into Nisroc's jaw, but the angel barely budged. Pinning Crowley down, he struggled to get his angel blade to Crowley's throat.

"Not that easy to kill me, love," he growled, and he reached up and grabbed the side of the angel's face. With a thought, he was melting his vessel's face with one hand while he fumbled to free his Stygian blade from where it was pinned between their chests. The angel let out a shout of pain.

_"Hellspawn!"_ spat the irate tree topper through gritted teeth.

"Not just Hellspawn," countered Crowley. " _The_ Hellspawn."

There was a shout in the back of his mind– worry, something from Sam, but he didn't feel any pain coming from him, so he must have still been alright. Crowley flipped himself and the angel over, Stygian blade free and in his hand. Without hesitation, he made to drive it down into Nisroc's face. It nearly made it to its destination.

Until Crowley was grabbed by the collar and jerked up to his feet by someone who definitely wasn't there five seconds ago. Before he knew it, he was dangling several inches above the ground, held by the front of his shirt.

Crowley found himself face to face with Xaphan.

Oh, what a lovely reunion.

"Crowley," Xaphan greeted. "I'd hoped Abaddon would be able to kill you in the months since our last meeting. She is... more inept than I originally imagined." Xaphan's free hand was open, and Crowley's Stygian blade sailed into it.

"Maybe you should rethink who you make your alliances with," Crowley told him. His eyes darted around, and he started to realize the magnitude of the situation he was currently in. He'd somehow managed to get himself thoroughly separated from the others. He couldn't see Sam, Dean, or Castiel anywhere– and oh, it seemed his earpiece had shorted out as well, probably from Xaphan's immediate presence and the waves of intense power that radiated from him, both celestial and demonic alike.

"Perhaps," the fallen angel conceded. "If I had come to you instead of the she-demon, maybe we wouldn't be here, hmm?"

"Certainly not," Crowley replied. "Because I would've killed you where you stood."

"Curious thing, you are. Straddling the line between good and evil, between demon and human... I've never seen anything quite like you."

"Afraid I can't say the same to you," Crowley answered back. "You're an impressive abomination, I'll give you that... but an angel choking down Hell souls? I've seen that before. You're nothing special, mate. Just another trumped up pigeon trying to knock over the fishbowl."

Xaphan snorted, blue eyes cold. "You would mock me when I could kill you in the blink of an eye?"

"I'm a King. I don't kneel to anyone, and I certainly don't kneel to _angels_."

That was when he began to feel it.

The change. It had been slow, over the past few hours... but now it was coming fast, coming in a flood. The loyalty of the demons, it was almost entirely with _him_ , now. What had always been rightfully his was finally returning to him, like a homecoming, the very best kind. Crowley smirked, and it spread, turning into a half-mad grin. Humanity or not, he was still a demon, and power was still like nectar on his tongue.

Hellfire in his veins, burning, spreading...

"Today, you do," Xaphan told him, oblivious as to what was really happening. Sam was screaming in his head now, having seen that he was in the almost-archangel's clutches. "Today, all will bow to me... starting with you, little King."

"You're forgetting one very important little caveat."

Xaphan's brow creased in confusion. Or maybe Crowley just imagined it. At the moment, he didn't particularly care.

"Oh?"

"You can't just _take_ Hell," Crowley informed him. "It's living, it's breathing, it's _growing_... and it has a mind of its own. _Hell_ chooses who leads it."

Crowley's eyes flashed blood red. He launched out a hand, gripping Xaphan's throat tightly and squeezing his windpipe, blunt fingernails digging into his skin. "Newsflash: HELL. CHOSE. _ME_."

It was a tricky business, drawing souls from Hell into himself. His vessel wasn't anything particularly special; not an angelic vessel, not built to hold a ridiculous amount of energy. He always had to be careful not to pull in too much, because if he delved too deep, got too greedy, his vessel was very likely to explode under the influx of power.

Crowley didn't bother with caution that time.

They couldn't afford caution.

He pulled in thousands of souls– tens of thousands even, he couldn't even keep track. Misery and pain and torment, filling him and pulsing and screaming for freedom... mercy, forgiveness... Hell embodied. Pain, denial, the repeated hope of respite crushed. And oh, the souls were from deep, _deep_ in the Pit. Ancient, impossibly strong.

He could feel his vessel splitting apart at the seams, his true form bleeding through and sprouting through the cracks, and _oh_ , he must look terrifying to those who had eyes to see what he truly was.

_"CROWLEY!"_

And maybe that shout was what made it worth it, burning up the vessel he'd begun to truly look at as _himself_ , as his identity. After all Crowley's time in him, after becoming partially human in him... well, he'd gotten sentimental.

But ah, sacrifices had to be made.

Xaphan threw him to the ground, backing away a few steps, looking utterly lost. "What is this?"

"Can't you feel it?" Crowley asked, rough and guttural, his true voice peeling through his vessel's accent. "It's mine. It's mine again." A laugh bubbled in his throat, off-kilter and appropriately disturbing, given the fact that his vessel's face was quite literally melting off. "I'm going to show you what _real_ Hell is, my darling."

He wouldn't be able to kill Xaphan. Not likely. But he could wound him, and he could blow apart that bloody wall.

_"Get ready, Moose."_

_"Whatever you're going to do, don't–!"_

Crowley meant to apologize, a quick _I'm sorry_ before things went nuclear.

He really did.

But it was already too late.


	79. Watch It Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley's got a pretty new suit, and things start to go the way they always go in Supernatural.

Sam screamed something over the earpiece that sounded a hell of a lot like, _"DUCK!"_

Wasting no time, Dean grabbed Cas and dragged both of them to the ground, behind a pile of rebar and broken concrete. Maybe he was half-covering Cas's body with his own. Maybe. Not that he would admit it later.

There were dead demons and angels surrounding them, but that could be said of anywhere in the city. With the heat of summer and the sheer number of corpses, all of Jerusalem was starting to reek of death. The air would've been practically unbreathable if it weren't for the smoke and sulfur partially masking the odor.

"Sam? What is it?" Cas asked urgently. They'd heard Crowley talking to Xaphan, but it seemed like the demon was being purposefully cryptic as to what exactly he was doing. Whatever it was, he hoped it worked damn well, because he didn't see how else Crowley was going to break free of Xaphan without losing his life in the process.

There was a stab of worry in his gut, deep and almost painful, and Dean realized that the idea of Crowley dying was something he really, really didn't want.

_A couple of months can change a lot, I guess._

All he could hear over the earpiece was Crowley laughing.

Then there was deathly silence.

Dean thought that somehow the entire battlefield had gone quiet for a moment, but he realized quickly that he was wrong. His hearing had been blown out. They were hit by an intense shockwave, and he and Cas were pushed flat down in the blood and mud. Dean groaned as impossible heat seared his skin. He was sure, for a few short seconds, that the two of them were going to be roasted alive.

No sound, no feeling other than burning, and with his eyes shut he saw nothing but dark.

It reminded him of Hell.

His hearing didn't come back. Feelings, however, feelings other than _fire_ and _ouch pain fuck_ did eventually return.

Dean looked up. The sky was black. Pitch black. It might as well have been the dead of night. The heat lightning was constant now, bright red veins running through the darkness. There was ash raining from the sky, and... burning paper? _What the hell?_

"The prayers," Cas coughed out. He was gazing up above as well. Dean could barely hear him, even though the ex-angel was right underneath him. It was like he was speaking from a million miles away. Dean's ears hurt like someone had shoved ice picks in them, and the inane ringing reminded him a little too much of Cas's true voice.

"Prayers?" Dean repeated, voice a wreck.

"Humans, they... they write prayers to God, and stuff them into indents of the Wailing Wall in hopes that they'll be answered." The heat lightning and embers in the air reflected in the crystal surface of Cas's eyes, and he looked so damn _sad_.

"I don't think God's ever gonna get these ones, man," Dean told him. "Sam? Crowley? Where are you two?"

"Sam's with us," Charlie provided. "And knocked out. Again."

"What happened?"

"Um, brief summary: apparently Crowley turned his meat suit into an unholy hand grenade and blew the Wailing Wall sky high," Charlie explained quickly. "Now get your butts over there and get the Man Tablet before one of the bad guys does!"

Dean yanked Cas up, and the two of them stumbled out from behind the debris they'd used as shelter. They were both shocked by what they saw: where once there was the Wall and a large portion of the plaza, there was nothing but a massive, smoking black crater.

"Oh my God... just what the hell did Crowley _do_?"

"He shouldn't have been able to summon that much power," Cas said. "Unless..."

"Hell," Dean filled in. "He must've gotten Hell back!" Dean pumped his fist in the air as he dragged Cas forward. "Ha, I knew we could count on that little bastard!"

"But does that mean Xaphan can no longer draw on souls from the Pit?" Cas askd, eyes wide and worried. "What if he no longer fulfills the condition of the third trial?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we get there, Cas."

Angels started reappearing around them, now that the blast was clear.

"Shit," Dean muttered. They didn't have much time. They sprinted full-tilt at the fallen wall, as fast as they could. Dean had felt as though he was on his last legs pre-blast, but being so close to the Man Tablet had given him a much needed boost of adrenaline. He made sure to keep his hand locked on Cas's wrist; he didn't want to lose him in the chaos.

They didn't reach opposition until they were within feet of the remainder of the wall. Three angels launched themselves at Dean and Cas, having appeared out of nowhere. Dean took down in one with a somewhat extravagant twirl of his angel blade. Cas quickly dispatched the other two, relieving them of their heads.

"I can feel it," Cas said. "It's there. Dean, it's inside." Cas pointed at one massive portion of the wall, scorched and cracked, just inches from them. Dean bent down, resting his hand on it.

"Okay, uh... how do we get to it?"

Something in Cas's eyes flashed. Understanding? He wasn't sure.

"Stand back, Dean."

He stepped back. When Cas got that look, it was time to listen.

"Cover me," the ex-angel requested.

Dean nodded. A demon was charging at them, slipping and tripping through the ash and bloody muck. Dean kicked out his legs, then dove down, jabbing him in the throat. He glanced back at Cas. Cas flipped Gabriel's archangel blade so the point was aimed downwards. With a deep breath, he drove it into the rock.

It pierced the rubble like it was made of butter.

Veins of ice blue ran through it, and it began to vibrate.

"Holy literal shit," Dean said.

Cas twisted. There was a blast of light that Dean was forced to look away from. When it faded, he heard Cas let out an exclamation of victory.

Dean's attention snapped to Cas. The wall fragment was in pieces at his feet. In his hands, he held a tablet that exactly resembled the Demon and Angel Tablets.

"This is it," Cas said, guiding reverent fingers over the runes. "The Man Tablet."

Finally. Something in the win column.

"We gotta get that thing outta here. Now," Dean urged. "Charlie. We need Claire."

"One step ahead of you." He looked up. Claire stood over him. She had a long, bloody cut on her face, and one of her eyes was almost swollen shut. The battle was starting to take its toll on her. Dean felt a stab of worry; he'd already failed at keeping Kevin alive. He'd be damned if he let another kid die on his watch, angel or not.

"Where are we going to take it?" Cas asked, seeming suddenly protective over the new tablet, just as he had with the Angel Tablet. "Nowhere here is safe."

"Hey Hardison," Charlie said. "You feel like having the actual word of God to go with that prophet?"

Hardison just sighed. "Sure? Why not. After that just ship Jesus, Joseph, and Mary on over. We'll have a party. It'll be sweet."

"You're such a team player. When we make embroidered jackets – you know, Jerusalem 2015 – you're totally getting one," Charlie told him.

"Take it to where you took the prophet chick," Dean instructed Claire. "Don't tell anyone where. Not even the angels, got that?"

"Got it," Claire said with a nod. Reluctantly, Cas handed over the tablet. The next second, Claire was gone.

"Okay, that's one thing down," Dean huffed out, rising to his feet. Cas yanked out the archangel blade. "What now?"

"Uh... you fight the massive horde of demons and angels coming at you," Charlie said. Dean and Cas turned.

"Oh crap."

* * *

Sam slowly crawled out of the murk of unconciousness. His entire body ached, almost as if...

Almost as if he'd been in a massive, cataclysmic explosion.

_Which is exactly what happened._

Sam's eyes snapped open. "Crowley."

"Oh my gosh, that's so cute." Charlie's voice cut through his disorientation. "Mooseley's so close to being canon, I can taste it."

"Why can't you speak words that make sense," Sam murmured, clutching his head, which throbbed mercilessly. "Where is–"

"I don't know," Charlie cut him off, wheeling around in her office chair to look at him. "He's alive though, so no worries. Really depressing about his meat suit, but Crowley's still smoking around somewhere. Probably looking for a new vessel that's well-endowed enough for him."

"I can still feel him," Sam said. "Up here." He tapped the side of his head. "But not in the same way, I can't–"

_"CUT YOUR ANTI-POSSESSION SYMBOL!"_

Sam clamped his hands over his ears, the semi-familiar roar almost deafening him. After he recovered, it took him only a second to realize what he needed to do.

"Charlie!" He tossed her his angel blade. "Cut it!" He tugged up his sleeve, revealing the new anti-possession tattoo on his shoulder.

Charlie's eyes widened almost comically. "Why–?"

"NOW, CHARLIE!"

"Okay, okay!" she squeaked, and she obediently sliced at the symbol. Sam winced at the pain just as one of the windows in the internet cafe exploded in a shower of glass, and swirling red smoke poured through.

Barely a second later, Crowley's smoke was sliding down his throat.

Sam's heart stuttered erratically with fear, every instinct inside of him screaming _NO,_ because something else inside of him, pulling his strings – Meg, Lucifer – it was never good, _never_ , and he didn't want to give up control, he couldn't–

_"Trust me."_

It was strange, because it wasn't Crowley's voice – not the voice of his vessel, anyway – but he still knew it was Crowley. There was a rasp to it, a growl, something distinctly _him_.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Sam stopped fighting, and he let Crowley overshadow him... and it was...

_"Well isn't this just sexy?"_ the demon joked. Crowley lifted Sam's hands, turning them over. He flexed them. _"Knew I'd get inside you somehow, Moose."_

_"Technically, this isn't anything you haven't done before,"_ Sam replied. _"I just wasn't physically awake for it last time."_

Charlie stared up at him, eyes wide. "Uh... Crowley? Sam? Which one of you is piloting this thing?" She tapped Sam's chest.

"Three guesses, love," Crowley purred with Sam's voice, which didn't truly sound like his voice anymore. It was deeper, rougher, and there was a faint accent to it, almost indiscernible. Not British, but... maybe just the lingering suggestion that once upon a time, Crowley had been Scottish.

"Hey Crowley," Charlie said immediately, almost smirking.

_"How does this feel for you?"_ Crowley mentally asked Sam.

It didn't necessarily feel good, but he wasn't afraid. He was already very used to having Crowley in his head basically 24/7, so to have him fully ingrained in his mind wasn't that much of a jump.

_"It's not as bad as it could be,"_ Sam said at length. _"I trust you."_

Crowley valued that, Sam could feel it. The demon straightened Sam's shoulders. "Pity about Sully, but I think I can call this an upgrade." He flipped Sam's hair. "Oh, now that's just _weird_."

_"Uh, Crowley, can we maybe focus on the cataclysmic war going on around us?"_

Slowly, the demon got Sam up to his feet. "And you're so _tall_ ," Crowley continued, seeming not to have heard Sam's protest. He turned Sam's head, peering around. "Bloody Hell, I feel like I'm on stilts. Oi, look at you down there!" He patted the top of Charlie's head. "You're tiny!"

"I bet Sam is just loving this," Charlie commented, grinning fully up at Crowley, now. She was roughly his size before, so it was odd to be looking down at her from such a great height now.

_"CROWLEY."_

"Right, right, sorry. War of the Worlds, Judgment Day, etcetera." Crowley wrung out Sam's hands, taking a deep breath. "You've got so much power in this thing, you know that? I can feel Azazel's blood pumping through you... _very_ volatile... and seeing as you're Lucifer's vessel..." Crowley grinned, and high-intensity blackish-red energy danced around his fingertips. "I can take in double the amount of Hell souls I was choking down before. Brilliant."

_"Just remember: temporary housing. When this is over, you have to find a new body."_

Crowley pouted with Sam's lips. "Do I have to? I like it in here. It's cozy. I wouldn't mind staying for awhile."

_"Don't even joke about that,"_ Sam said firmly.

"Only kidding, Moose. My vessel's got a son floating around, bloody dead-ringer for him. I'll pay him a visit when this is all said and done."

Crowley thrust out Sam's arms, so his body was a perfect T. "And now..." A blink, and Sam knew his eyes were glowing crimson. "What say we have ourselves a little massacre?"

* * *

"Okay, guys... well. Xaphan's in the wind, but we've got the tablet, and we've got the prophet. So, yeah! Not bad so far!" Charlie declared. "So now, basically, try not to get killed, and get Cas to Xaphan."

"That'd be a little easier if we knew where the hell Xaphan was, kiddo," Dean replied. Charlie was watching them on the monitors, and Dean and Cas were right smack in the middle of a thick knot of Xaphan's forces, fighting tooth and nail.

"On that. Right now. Looking, and... yeah. More looking. Hardison?"

"It's hard to see a damn thing past the smoke," Hardison said. "Your demon buddy's not great at the whole 'subtle insurrection' thing."

"The time for subtlety went out the window a long time ago," Crowley said. Or Sam said. Whatever. It was getting confusing. "He's also likely to be in a new vessel, as I properly fried the last one."

"Oh! Also, update: Crowley is now in Sam. For those of you who don't know. Like, possessing him. With permission."

"WHAT!?" Charlie winced as both Cas and Dean let out their respective exclamations of disbelief.

"Emphasis on the permission part," Crowley/Sam said. "Right Moose?"

There was a pause. "It's okay, really. Just a temporary thing. Desperate times, I guess," Sam said in a voice that sounded far more like his own.

"Is this normal for y'all? Letting demons just climb into your skin?" Hardison asked, sounding mildly horrified.

"Demons, angels, Satan himself," Dean said. "Yeah. Nothing new here. But Crowley, I swear to God, if you–"

"Save the speech, Squirrel. I fully plan on getting the security deposit back on this suit," Crowley told him.

"Talking about Sam like he's clothing doesn't inspire much confidence," Cas pointed out.

"Fine, you want _inspired_? I love Sam with every inch of my undead and/or possibly nonexistent heart, and I swear on my immortal life that I'll not allow any serious harm to come to him so long as I still draw breath."

Silence, then...

"Charlie, stop _clapping_."

"Shut it, Dean, or I'll make Mooseley my OTP instead of Destiel."

"I hate to interrupt whatever the hell you guys are talking about, but I think I found Xaphan," Hardison informed them.

"Where?" Charlie asked, eyes darting from screen to screen in a rapid-fire fashion.

"Skinny guy with the nice hair, wrecking everything in downtown. Looks like a whole group of good angels just got roasted," the hacker provided. "I watched him crumple up a tour bus like a candy wrapper. Dude's got some serious mojo."

"We need to make sure our dear fallen angel doesn't make a break for it," Crowley/Sam said. "He's had a peek at the Angel Tablet; no doubt he knows that he could very well be the key to busting open the heavenly piggy bank. If he buggers off, we're doomed."

"Is there a suggestion hiding in here, or are you just trying to bum us out?" Dean asked.

"We need to put back up the wards that prevent teleportation for angels."

"Not for demons?" Cas questioned.

"Most of the demons are either dead, or on my side. We need to worry about Xaphan and the rest of his heavies, first and foremost."

Charlie sighed. "Claire?"

The angel was leaning back against the wall, watching Charlie with crossed arms.

"She's totally not going to go for that," the new angel warned.

"Can you try?" Charlie requested, giving Claire her best puppy dog eyes.

Claire shot her a withering look, but did as she was asked. A moment later, she said, "Yeah, she basically gave me the angelic equivalent of 'no fucking way'."

Charlie grimaced. "Anthriel's not a fan of the idea," she relayed to the others.

* * *

"Tell her to suck it the hell up," Dean grunted, slitting the throat of an angel that attempted to make a grab for Cas. Arterial spray temporarily blinded him, and he backed away. He was going to need one hell of a shower after this shit was finally over.

"I'll try. And Claire. Mainly Claire. But I'll provide moral support," Charlie replied. "Try not to die!" she added cheerfully.

"Easier said than done," Dean said, ducking an angel blade. He lost an inch of hair to the irate angel in front of him. Cas stabbed him in the stomach before Dean had the chance to retaliate.

"Thanks," Dean managed, trying to catch his breath.

"We are miles from downtown," Cas said, brow scrunching worriedly. "Crowley? Can you get us there? Time is of the essence."

"I think Moose and I can manage."

Both of them jumped when they each felt a large hand land on their shoulders. They looked up and behind them, seeing Sam standing there, smirking.

Dean made a sound of disgust. "This is fucked," he said bluntly.

"Don't like me riding Moose, Squirrel?" Crowley asked, tilting Sam's head. "Don't knock it 'till you try it. It's warm and cozy inside your brother."

"Can you please stop."

"Always so sensitive."

Dean felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, and they were gone. When they snapped back into existence, they were in the shadow of an enormous, burning skyscraper.

"Ah. Now the party's truly started." Crowley started off determinedly into the mad fray, a nearby SUV blowing up within feet of him. He didn't even flinch. "Come on, boys. Time waits for no man... or demon."

Cas and Dean exchanged a worried look.

"His enthusiasm is disturbing," Cas commented.

"Well, that's Crowley," Dean sighed. "But he's right. This is it, Cas. Crunch time. Let's finish this." He clasped the ex-angel's arm. "You ready?"

Cas swallowed, then nodded. "As I'll ever be, I think." He gripped his borrowed archangel blade tighter. "Let's go."

* * *

Dean didn't like Crowley possessing his brother.

He really, really didn't like it.

But he had to admit... Samley had some serious style.

Crowley was riding around in one of the most powerful angelic vessels on the planet, a vessel that happened to already have freaky demon powers, and oh yeah, could hold a shit ton of Hell souls.

_"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIL TO THE KING!"_ Crowley roared victoriously, bringing down a bolt of lightning that fried every demon in a forty foot radius and made all of Dean's hair stand on end. A second later, he blinked out of existence, only to reappear on the top of an office building and send an enormous fireball towards an unsuspecting group of Xaphan's angels.

He was going kind of power mad. Dean was just happy he was on their side.

"Crowley, you mind cutting out the flash and focusing a little more on actually killing the bad guys? Fire and lightning may fry their meat suits, but they're still alive."

"But this is so much fun!" Crowley declared, almost manically.

"We're just asking you to kill more of Xaphan's forces, Crowley. Surely you can manage that much?" Cas asked tiredly.

Sam ( _Crowley_ , he mentally corrected himself) was suddenly at Dean and Cas's side. Stygian blade in one hand and angel blade in the other, he drove them both through the chests of the two demons that he and Cas had been trying to take down. Crowley spun the blades, grinning with Sam's mouth in a way that twisted his brother's face in all the wrong ways.

"Your wish is my command."

And then he was gone again, and Dean heard something explode a few blocks over.

"Jesus Christ," he swore, exasperated. "He's gonna level the whole damn city."

"I can hear you, you know. Both of us can," Crowley told him over the earpiece. "Sam says hi, by the way. And that your hair looks stupid when you part it that way."

"Shut up, Crowley."

The demon in his brother laughed.

"Charlie, what's the word on the warding? Yay or nay?" Dean asked, practically screaming over the sudden _crrr-ACCKKK_ behind him. He was getting so used to everything in his general vicinity getting spectacularly destroyed that he barely even flinched at noises like that anymore.

It had been a long day.

"Alm– should be– _get ready_ –" Charlie's voice flickered in and out. Static crackled in Dean's inner ear.

"Charlie? Charlie, can you hear me?"

_"Dean!"_

The next second, Cas had tackled him hard to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Dean looked past the angel's shoulder. Right where he had been standing a moment earlier, half of the floor of the tenth story of a nearby highrise had sunk into the ground, ripping the road in half. An angel had been more or less crushed underneath it. Dean gulped.

"Shit," he muttered. "Thanks for the save, Cas."

"You need to pay more attention," the ex-angel said gruffly, pushing himself off of Dean.

"Not arguing with you there," he replied. "You getting anything but static in your earpiece?"

"No. I think we're cut off from the others. Xaphan must be close. His presence might be enough power to interfere with electronics," Cas reasoned, helping Dean to his feet.

Dean lightly pushed Cas out of the way and stabbed an angel in the shoulder just as they lunged for him. Dean tore out his angel blade, then reburied it in the angel's chest. With a stuttered cough and a blinding flash of blue, he died.

"Now who needs to pay more attention?" Dean asked, smirking. Cas snorted, the audio equivalent of an eyeroll, but he could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

Dean went to say more, but the sudden appearance of a massive angel behind Cas made the words catch in his throat.

"Cas!"

(Looking back, Dean knew what was going to happen next.)

Time seemed to slow down. The roaring thrum of the battle disappeared and Dean could've sworn that every angel, demon, and human had fallen silent. Everything faded to gray except for Cas. Cas, who was frozen mid-turn, angel blade swinging towards the hulking angel behind him.

_Not enough time there's not enough time **Cas no–**_

Dean blinked, and the enemy angel's Stygian blade was buried in Cas's sternum. The ex-angel coughed once before falling to his knees. His hands fumbled at the amethyst sword in his chest. The angel that stabbed him took a step back, admiring his handiwork with a triumphant grin, oblivious to Dean's approach.

The grin didn't stay after Dean chopped his head off.

Dean dropped to his knees next to Cas immediately, succumbing to tunnel vision. The battlefield disappeared, and all that mattered was Cas, Cas who was–

_Not again._

Dean put one arm around Cas's back and the other underneath his knees. He gathered up Cas in his arms, pulling him closer, practically cradling him to his chest. Castiel's gaze was hazy, barely coherent. Dean felt heat burning in his eyes, blurring his vision.

"No," he choked. "No, no, no. Cas, don't do this to me, man." When Cas didn't respond, Dean shook him. "Cas, you've got to stay with me. _Cas._ "

Cas blinked at him slowly before putting a shaking hand on the side of Dean's face. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"It ain't your fault, Cas," Dean whispered. "Don't be sorry, don't... just stay with me, alright? Everything's gonna be okay. Just stay with me." He knew that he was asking something of Cas that he couldn't provide, but the words were pouring out without his consent. A part of him hoped that if he pleaded enough, Cas wouldn't... wouldn't...

He couldn't even think the word.

"It hurts, Dean."

"I know it does, Cas. I know. Just look at me, just focus on my face. Just hold on. We said we'd go down together, right? And I'm still breathing, so that means that you've gotta– you've gotta keep on keepin' on, okay?"

Cas didn't respond. He seemed to slip further away, eyes draining of life by the second.

"CROWLEY!" Dean screamed with all he had. Maybe– maybe they could heal Cas just enough, just enough for him to survive the injury from the Stygian blade.

_You can't heal wounds from Stygian blades. You know that._

But Cas survived last time, he survived all Daityas did to him, so he could survive now. He could. _He had to._

"You know there's nothing he can do for me..." Cas murmured, his hand dropping from Dean's face. It landed on Dean's shoulder, where he gripped weakly. Dean laid his hand over Cas's, the other supporting the ex-angel's head. Cas was so much colder than usual.

"There's got to be something–"

"There isn't," Cas said softly. Dean could feel the tears slipping down his face. "It's time for me to go, I think."

"No!" he barked, holding onto Cas for dear life. "No, you can't do this, Cas. Not again. I– I _can't_ -" His voice broke, hard.

"Dean." Cas's eyes held his. "I love you."

Cas tightened his grip on Dean's shoulder, and the hunter gasped as intense pain arced up his bicep, like lightning in his very veins. White flashed in his eyes for a moment, before dissipating and leaving his head aching. When his sight returned, he saw that Cas's eyes were staring upward, right at the black and red sky.

Cas was motionless in his arms. Gray. Ice cold.

"CAS!"

No, no, no– he couldn't be gone. He _couldn't_. Not now, not when they were so damn close to fixing things. Dean gasped out a sob, as if the sound had been ripped out of his chest.

Not caring that he was opening himself up for attack, Dean pulled Cas's body closer to him.

Shaking, he leaned his head down. He rested his forehead against Castiel's and whispered, _"Damn it, Cas."_


	80. The End of All Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the authoress doesn't know if she should add a 'religious themes' warning or not, and Cas's daddy issues are finally sort-of resolved.

Castiel could smell beer.

It was a scent he found oddly comforting. It reminded him of the Winchesters. Of six packs and musty motel rooms during the apocalypse. Of Bobby's kitchen, or nights spent on the couch in the bunker with Dean.

Still, he was confused as to why the odor hung in the air, now. He was dead, wasn't he? Meaning he would either descend to Hell or ascend to Heaven. There was no sulfur or brimstone, so he was at least relatively sure he wasn't in Hell, but if he had achieved paradise, why did he smell stale alcohol?

Cas opened his eyes with effort, and was greeted by warm yellow light. He was lying on a flat surface. He looked around him and realized that he was on top of a pool table. When he pushed himself up into a sitting position, he inadvertently knocked the eight ball into the corner pocket.

He was in a bar of some variety, but it was utterly vacant. It didn't look abandoned, just empty. However, in the corner, he noticed something... a familiar figure, bound tightly in boat rope around the arms, chest, and ankles. His mouth was duct taped shut, and he looked less than happy to be there.

"Metatron," Cas realized, stunned. The scribe made an angry, indignant kind of sound under the duct tape, glaring at Cas as if he was trying to burn holes through him with his eyes.

"Taping his mouth shut might've been a little much, but... I needed some... heh, _god_ damn peace and quiet."

Cas twisted his head around, and a man was seated at the bar counter, with a tropical yellow drink in his hand. He turned to Cas and grinned.

"Good to see you awake, Cas."

Cas just stared. "…Chuck?"

* * *

Cas was dead.

Cas was dead, and nothing else mattered.

Dean would've stayed there forever if someone hadn't taken him away.

He barely registered the warm hand on the top of his shoulder, holding on tightly.

In an instant, Castiel's steadily cooling form was absent from his arms. The blood-gore-sand-mud mix that his knees had been buried in vanished, replaced with cold tile. The sounds of battle were gone. His ears were met with the sound of even breathing and broken, stuttered sobbing. He realized the latter was coming from him.

He opened his eyes and raised his head, hands clutching at thin air. He was in a synagogue, he realized. An empty one, with cobwebs in the corners of the vast sanctuary. Dim evening light filtered through the stained glass windows, illuminating the person standing over him.

Sam. Crowley. Both, he supposed. His expression was grim.

Dean was on his feet and launching at the demon before he even fully registered what he was doing. His hands twisted in Sam's shirt, and he wished that Crowley was in his typical vessel, because he would've been able to pick him up and slam him against the wall.

"What did you do with him?" Dean demanded, his voice feral, almost unrecognizable. Tears were still stinging down his scratched cheeks. He shook Sam-Crowley-whoever. _"Where is he?"_

"Somewhere safe," Crowley replied in a monotone, and Sam's eyes looked sad. Damn sad. He didn't know if that was the demon, or his brother. "I'm sorry."

Dean blinked in subdued surprise. Crowley was frowning, and his words held no hint of sarcasm or snark. His eyes, like his condolences, were sincere. "Take me to him," he ordered. "I'm not leaving him."

"He doesn't need you anymore," Crowley said quietly. "He's gone."

"Shut up!" Dean yelled. "He's not– he _can't_..." he faltered. Crowley looked at him with something that almost seemed like sympathy... then his eyes changed.

"Dean."

That was Sam. Thank God. Sam carefully pried Dean's hands from his chest and brought him into an almost painful, crushing embrace. Dean hung on, arms wrapped tight around his brother's broad shoulders. He tried to stop the tears, but he couldn't. Not today. Tonight. Whenever. He'd lost track of time long ago.

Cas had told him it wasn't likely that they would all make it out alive.

_God, you stupid son of a bitch... why did you have to be right this time?_

He cried into Sam's shoulder like a child, and he didn't care.

"It's okay," Sam hushed him, and that pissed him the hell off, because it wasn't Sam's job to be the big brother. It was his. "Dean, it's gonna be okay, alright? Maybe God will bring him back; he's done it every time before."

"If you tell me to have faith, I'm going to break your nose," he mumbled into Sam's now damp shirt.

Sam just held him tighter.

After an indeterminable amount of time, he felt the hug change. Arms sliding lower, growing looser. Dean pulled away, knowing he was dealing with Crowley again.

"Castiel is dead," Crowley said, his words slow and measured. "And yes, it's awful. Truly awful, and I _mean that_ – but you need to get back in the fight. Someone's still got to kill Xaphan."

"Let Gabriel do it," Dean spat, turning his back. "What's the point? With Cas dead, we'll never get the Gates open. All of this is pointless."

"Pointless?" Crowley repeated, eyebrows raising in irritation. "The world isn't safe until Xaphan is dead." Crowley grabbed Dean by his shoulders and shook him roughly. "It's the sodding apocalypse, you can't just– ouch!" Crowley jerked his left hand back, cursing.

"What just happened?" Dean asked, looking at the angry red burn on the demon's palm.

"What..." Crowley looked up at Dean, confusion coloring his gaze. Gingerly, Crowley reached out and lifted the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt. Dean followed the demon's eyes to his shoulder. Cas's handprint, the scar that had accompanied him for seven years, was glowing a brilliant blue. "Bloody hell."

"Why is it doing that?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse.

"Clever bastard," Crowley murmured before meeting Dean's eyes. He blinked several times, a smile slowly forming on Sam's face. " _Brilliant_ bastard!"

"What are you talking about!?"

"You've got Grace, darling," Crowley told him. "Castiel gave his Grace to you– or activated what Grace was already in you, rather. And I've got a theory..." Crowley looked at Dean critically. "Feeling sparky, by any chance?"

Dean realized that he did feel a little... _charged_. He'd assumed it was just the adrenaline. Hesitantly, he stretched out his forearms, eyeing his veins. A faint blue light glowed underneath his skin. With effort, he gathered the energy in his hand. Electricity sparked from his fingertips.

"The trials..."

"He transferred them to you," Crowley said, for the first time in his memory, the demon seemed shocked. "The angel trials. He used the mark of his Grace to give them to you." He shook his head in disbelief. "A parting gift. Castiel's final act."

Dean shook his head, staring down at his hands, which were still letting out intermittent sparks. "What does this mean?"

"It means..." Crowley snapped his fingers. Gabriel's angel blade appeared in his grip. He handed it to Dean, who carefully took it from the demon king. It glowed bright white when he wrapped his hand around the hilt. "It means you're going to go out there, and you're going to kill Xaphan and finish this, once and for all."

Dean stood stock still in the synagogue's sanctuary, the strongest weapon on Earth gripped in his hand, the lingering Grace of his angel, of his best friend, coursing through every inch of him. Stay, or fight? It wasn't really a choice at all.

_I'll finish this for him._

"What are we waiting for, then?"

* * *

"I knew you were expecting, you know, _your_ heaven, but I had to pull you out of there. Well, actually, I had Ash do it. But that's beside the point, I needed to talk to you."

"This place…" Cas threw his legs over the side of the pool table. "What is it?"

"Did Sam and Dean ever tell you about the Roadhouse?"

"It was a drinking establishment the Harvelles owned before it was burned down by Azazel's demons," Cas replied. "Is this it?"

"The happy ever after version, yeah," Chuck answered. He patted the stool next to him. "Come on, Cas. Let's chat. It's been a long time."

Cas approached Chuck, taking the seat he was offered next to the prophet. "After the Winchesters stopped the apocalypse, you vanished. We assumed you were dead, once Kevin was chosen."

"Dead isn't exactly the right word," Chuck said slowly. He lifted up his glass. "Drink?"

"No thank you."

"Your loss." Chuck took a sip, seeming to consider his next words carefully. "There's a lot I should say to you, Cas. I don't really know where to start."

"I feel as though I'm missing something," Cas admitted.

"Cas, I'm more than just a prophet. Technically, I'm not a prophet at all."

"Then what are you?"

* * *

Dean thought of a lot of things, once he, Sam, and Crowley rejoined the fray.

He thought of the night the angels fell. A comatose Sam in the backseat, a sobbing, mess of a half-human Crowley riding shotgun, driving towards Cas. Terrified. Terrified of the angels getting sent to Earth, terrified for his brother, terrified for Cas, for what it meant for him, losing his Grace.

Those first few days after the Fall... he'd never been so scared.

He thought of Cas fumbling his way into humanity. Dean having to teach him how to shower, brush his teeth, comb his hair, tie his shoes, tie a tie... hell, he'd even had to teach him how to sleep.

He thought of sleeping next to Cas that first night, upside down on the bed. He thought of the many nights that followed.

He remembered little things. Pitchy, deep singing in the shower. Cas frustratedly brushing Aziraphale's fur off of his clothing while holding back a sneeze. The intensity of his curiosity when Dean tried to teach him the basics of cooking. Dean thought of Cas's warmth and the smell of his honey shampoo as he tore down demon after demon after demon.

Love could be frightening, especially when sharpened to a point.

Because something had to keep him going. Something had to make him want to fight when everything inside of him was screaming. So he let the lightning drive him, let Cas's eyes be burned, still images on the backs of his own eyelids. Filled himself up with either rage or love ( _maybe they're the same thing_ ) and he lost himself.

He left a trail of bodies in his wake. Crowley frequently complained that Dean was hogging the action. Charlie was all sympathy and soft comfort in his ear.

He took out his earpiece, needing silence.

He plowed ahead, one thought in his mind:

_I will kill them all._

* * *

Chuck smiled, and his eyes suddenly glowed a hot golden-white. A wave of warmth crashed over Cas, like he was suddenly submerged in a hot bath. In spite of himself, he gasped. The feeling was familiar, known to him deep in his heart. It reminded him of his birth.

It couldn't be, but he knew it was true. "Father…?" Cas breathed as the light faded and Chuck was Chuck once more.

"Hiya Cas."

Unbidden, tears built in his eyes rapidly. With one blink, they cascaded down his cheeks. "All this time, you… you walked the Earth?"

"I did. I wasn't as absent as people say I am. I worked subtly. They don't say that I work in mysterious ways for nothing."

"So do you… are you Chuck Shurley? Does he even exist? Was it you all of this time?"

"Oh, Chuck's a real guy. Was. He served his purpose, and I allowed his soul to move on after the apocalypse was averted. He was one of the few people who could act as a vessel for me. He was in control almost the entire time. Truthfully, I was just there to watch over things. Chuck's visions, well… that was him getting him glimpses of what I see every minute of every day."

"You see everything."

"I do." Chuck nodded. Or rather, God nodded. "Everything that was, is, and ever will be. The fate of every living thing in the universe. The grand story, every single chapter." Chuck took a deep sip of his drink. "Writing is hard, Cas."

"Writing?"

"Well that's what being God means, when you think about it. I'm the writer. I control everything, everyone. The pen is in my hand."

"Which means… free will is only an illusion."

Chuck made a face to show his disagreement. "I wouldn't say that. Sometimes characters get away from you. Sometimes they surprise you. Take you places you never thought you'd go." He paused. "Places you never wanted to go."

"The Winchesters…"

"Not just the Winchesters. I mean, that's how it started. Just two brothers on the road, saving people and hunting things. It was simple. It was good. But you can't have story with only two characters. You need friends, family, romance and heartbreak. It needed _more_."

"More?"

* * *

Xaphan was in the Jerusalem District, as of Charlie's last update. The warding had successfully been redone, in spite of Anthriel's protests, so angels were no longer free to move around as they pleased. While it did hinder the Heavenly Host as well, it was a far bigger handicap to Xaphan's forces, who were comprised mostly of angels, now.

It was a good thing they'd put the warding back up when they did. Otherwise, the opposition would have been able to escape, with Xaphan no doubt leading the way. It was nearly over. They'd won, in almost every way. The tablet was theirs, the prophet was theirs, and Hell's army had been decimated to the point of almost extinction.

But Xaphan still lived, and that was unnaceptable. He was the only thing standing between the angels and their home. Once he was dead, that would be the true victory. The reopening of the Gates. Being able to return to Heaven and hopefully leave Earth forever.

Dean had a feeling they wouldn't be so lucky to be rid of the angels forever, but he could hope, couldn't he?

"Dean."

He'd put his earpiece back in after awhile, realizing that if something happened to Sam or one of the others, he wouldn't know about. They'd all seemed to learn their lesson from before, and didn't speak often, thus not jarring him from his single minded drive to destroy everything in front of him.

"Charlie," he acknowledged, loosing a bolt of lightning at a nearby angel. It fried their meat suit to a crisp. He'd picked up the finer mechanics of being trial-juiced surprisingly fast. He supposed he could credit that much to the adrenaline pumping through him.

"I found him."

"Where?" Dean asked, wasting no time.

"Holyland Tower. Do you know where that is?"

"No."

"Look up."

He did.

"See the biggest building in the city? Huge skyscraper?"

A monolithic gray building towered into the pitch black clouds. It was on fire, smoke pluming into the air and surrounding the top ten stories in a veritable fog. "Yeah."

"That's it. He's on the roof. His guard – or what's left of them, anyway – they took him up there. I'm guessing they're trying to keep him safe, hold out until we break the warding again."

"Keep him safe," Dean repeated, grip tightening on the archangel blade. "We'll see about that."

Dean set off for the ominous shard sticking up into the sky. Thunder rumbled. The streets were quiter now, the sounds of battle dimming more and more by the second. His footsteps echoed loudly as he traipsed down a narrow alley, his boots leaving bloody tread marks on the pavement. He stepped wide to avoid bodies more than once.

The wind was picking up. Lightning flashed overhead.

_It's time._

* * *

"More," Chuck confirmed. "Do you have any idea how many times I've rewritten this thing, Cas? Tweaked everything from the smallest little details of the Winchesters' fate to the whole nature of the world they're trying to save– and I still haven't found one where I like the ending. Then again, any author worth their salt knows there's no such thing as the perfect ending. No. What's important is picking the _right_ ending."

"And the Man tablet, the collapse of the universe, you think that's the right ending?" Any other angel would have been wise enough not to question God, but Cas was not any other angel.

No. He was human, and that made all the difference.

"Come on, Cas, give me a little credit, huh? I'm no Stephen King. I'm not gonna just kill everybody off in the homestretch." Chuck tilted his head. "Okay, to be fair, I do have a tendency to do that, but arbitrary resurrections are kind of my thing. I know it's a cop-out, and it makes death seem kind of meaningless, but hey, everyone cuts corners sometimes."

"I don't understand."

"What I'm trying to say here is, you guys aren't exactly easy to plot out a happy ending for."

"Who exactly are 'you guys'?"

"You, Dean, Sam, Crowley, Kevin, Bobby, Charlie, I could go on… you all have had a lot of recurring characters in and out of your lives. And it's so damn complicated, because most people, they're simple when it comes down to it. Give them a house, a two car garage, a few kids, and someone to love, and they're good. But it's never been like that for you, for Team Free Will. You're the black sheep that have never been happy long enough for me to even determine what your idea of a happy ending would be. I mean, would peace make you happy? Being done with hunting, with the supernatural? I don't think so. Dean wasn't happy when he was with Lisa and Ben, Sam wasn't happy with Amelia. Were they content? Maybe. But not happy. And don't even get me started on you and Crowley."

Castiel couldn't very well argue with him on that front. "What does that mean for us, then?"

"Well, it's all about free will, right? I had an epiphany – why not let you choose?"

* * *

_"It's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll."_

The song played low over a radio sitting on the edge of the service desk in the ground floor of the highrise apartment building. Maybe it was a good omen.

_"If you think it's easy doing one night stands, try playing in a rock and roll band."_

Dean met resistance as soon as he reached the third floor. Two angels rushed at him. Dean sidestepped easily, sending the first tumbling down the stairs as he missed his target. The next angel was more cautious, approaching him slowly with his Stygian blade raised in a defensive position.

Dean pointed his sword at the light fixture above the angel. A bolt of electricity arched off of its tip, hit the light, then sparked down into the angel, paralyzing him as he was shocked with possibly thousands of volts. Dean took the opportunity and impaled the enemy angel through the heart. He then swung him around, using the now-dead angel as a shield for the oncoming attack from the still-living one. The other angel's blade went through his fallen comrade's chest. He had just enough time to blink in surprise before Dean beheaded him.

Dean made his way up the next set of stairs. Three more angels rushed him. Holyland Tower was thirty four stories tall.

Yeah. It was gonna be a long way to the top, alright.

* * *

"I think this is the last of them in the city proper," Crowley said as he nudged over an angelic corpse with the toe of Sam's boot. "My little Hiroshima back there helped thin the masses quite a bit."

Crowley stood outside the Consulate, right where the festivities had begun all those hours ago. It was approaching midnight, now, and the city was shrouded in darkness. The only illumination came from a few lights here and there scattered over Jerusalem's modern downtown, and then of course the near constant heat lightning up above.

Sam's soul and conscience thrummed along right next to his; Crowley felt his pain poignantly, the sharp, stinging pain of losing Cas made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. It didn't help that Crowley was privately grieving himself. All the betrayals and semi-failed plots in the world didn't change the fact that he had a soft spot for that bloody bird, and he was sad to see him go. Damn sad.

"Well, if you've got nothing else to do, Dean could probably definitely use some back up," Charlie told him.

"He's in Holyland, yeah?"

"Final level," Charlie confirmed. "Wanna go make it co-op?"

"Something like that."

_"Ready, Moose?"_

He felt determination from Sam. _"I'm ready."_

Crowley turned to Laharl, who was miraculously still alive, and hadn't left his side since Castiel's unfortunate demise. "I trust you can finish the clean up without me?"

"No problem, boss," Laharl said with a little two-fingered salute.

With that, Crowley snapped he and Sam out of existence. They reappeared next to Dean. Dean didn't even flinch at the sight of them. Dean himself was a bit of a mess. His eyes seemed to hold a faint blue glow to them. The very air around him sparked with energy, charged with the power of the trials. His entire front was soaked in blood. He had a collection of injuries that would've put most men on the ground, but just as the trials had healed Cas, they seemed to be swiftly knitting together Dean's injuries as well.

"Three floors left," Crowley observed. "Almost time for the finale."

Dean's jaw was stone. "Cas should be here... not me."

He wasn't wrong, but things never went as planned with them, did they? "But he isn't. You are. And it's up to you to put this matter to bed permanently."

Dean said nothing. With a sigh, he let Sam take over.

"Dean," Sam said, and his brother's eyes snapped up meet his, instantly noticing the change. "We're doing this for him. _You're_ doing this for him. We're not going to let him die in vain." He put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Team Free Will, right? Even if Cas isn't here... he's still here." Sam tapped his heart.

Dean just stared at him. "...Do you have an idea how totally fucking cheesy that sounded?"

"I'm trying to be supportive!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Are we gonna cry, now?"

Sam dropped his hands, glaring at Dean. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

Crowley took that opportune moment to take over again. He gestured to the next flight of stairs. "After you, Squirrel."

Dean went first. Crowley and Sam went second.

There weren't any angels on the next floor, or the one after.

On the top floor, however, there were twelve, maybe more. A quick check of them on the higher planes showed that they were all seraphs. Xaphan's honor guard, what very little remained of it. The last standing soldiers of Xaphan's forces, or at least the last ones that hadn't crawled into a hole to wait out the rest of the battle.

They were quite a pair, he and Squirrel. A telekinetic blast from Crowley and Sam pinned half of the angels to the opposing wall, slamming them against closed apartment doors. Crowley systematically executed each of them with neat slices to their jugulars with his angel blade. Meanwhile, Dean was a flurry of movement and sparks, weaving in and out of the angels and taking them down one by one. Once Crowley had finished his row, he whirled around and stabbed another in the back of the head, halting her before she was able to bring her blade down on Dean.

It seemed like it only took a few moments, a few breaths. A baker's dozen of dead angel's piled at their feet.

"They're losing strength," Crowley observed. "Getting tired, getting hopeless. Xaphan's bound to be much the same."

Dean said nothing. He headed for the set of steel steps that led to the roof. Crowley followed behind.

"Remember," Dean said lowly when he reached the top. He looked over his shoulder at Crowley. "He's. _Mine_."

"I wouldn't dream of getting between the two of you."

Dean turned back to the door. He pushed it open just as lightning illuminated the rooftop. The two (three?) of them stepped out. Standing on the edge of the rooftop, the very edge, hundreds of feet over Jerusalem, was Xaphan. He was in a new vessel, but the burnt wings of a fallen angel were unmistakable. His new vessel was lean and tall, with neatly styled black hair and a smooth middle eastern skin tone.

Xaphan turned to meet them. Thunder cracked, shaking the building.

"Well, well," he said, voice nearly lost to the wind. "The Righteous Man. I've been waiting for you."

* * *

"Let us choose?" Cas repeated.

"Look, I've never been great at keeping a solid theme – I get too caught up in the action, the plot, the characters. It's hard to remember that you're supposed to be able to take something away from every story. You know, a lesson. Some kind of meaning."

"The story of the human race is a very long one. It could have many meanings. The same could be said for the Winchester gospel as well, though it's much shorter by comparison," Cas responded.

"Amen." Chuck drained the remainder of his drink. "So, what do you go with, when it's crunch time? No matter what you do, someone's going to have a problem with it, and with a story like this, you could go with damn near anything. Family goes deeper than blood, no one is beyond redemption, love conquers all, never give up, choices are everything…"

"I think it very much depends on who is reading the story," Castiel said quietly.

Chuck smiled at him with what Cas wanted to label as pride. "Hit the nail on the head, Cas."

"I did?"

"Like I said, it's nice when characters surprise you. And I want you guys to keep surprising me." Chuck rose to his feet. "Hard to believe we're almost at the final chapter – at least of this book. I feel like I've been writing this since the dawn of time."

Cas opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden and abrupt rumbling in the ground distracted him. The Roadhouse began shaking violently around them. Liquor bottles fell off the shelves, crashing to the floor and shattering. The lights flickered overhead, disorienting him. There was a high pitched whine in the air. Angels?

"What's happening?" Castiel shouted over the commotion, rising from his stool. God clapped him on the shoulder.

"The end of the old world, and the beginning of a new one," he said. "I'm gonna have to send you back pretty soon here. I think Dean's going to be very happy to see you."

"Father, wait," Cas said quickly. "I – I need to know something."

"Anything."

* * *

Xaphan stepped off of the edge.

"You lost your angel," he said, and Dean's blood boiled. His vision clouded, and he wasn't there on the rooftop, he was holding Cas's body, feeling his last heartbeats fade.

"Didn't lose him," Dean replied tightly. "Some son of a bitch took him from me."

"That _son of a bitch_ would be God," Xaphan informed him. He continued strolling towards Dean, no fear in his step. He didn't look like an angel that had watched his entire army get slaughtered, that had lost the very war he'd started.

"You're looking awfully cocky for someone who just lost a war," Crowley observed, echoing his thoughts.

"I lost a battle," Xaphan conceded. "The war? No, I don't think so."

"Your army's gone. You lost the tablet, the prophet... it's game over," Crowley said.

"I have auxillary forces all over the world. I will find the tablet and the prophet. I will burn this planet still. This is just a... minor setback."

"And when I rip your fucking heart out?" Dean asked in a voice that didn't really sound like this own. "Is that gonna be just a minor setback, too?"

"In reality? Yes."

Xaphan halted six feet from Dean. A Stygian blade dropped into his right hand. He lifted it, pointing it at Dean.

"You must kill an archangel to open up the Gates of Heaven." The fallen angel smirked. "...And I no longer fulfill that condition, do I?" His dark eyes flicked to Crowley. "Not since he reclaimed the throne."

Dean swallowed, his worst fears springing to life.

"I'm simply not enough to satisfy the third trial."

Lightning flashed overhead. Xaphan's face looked like a skull.

"Heaven will never reopen... and Castiel died for nothing. Just as you will die for nothing."

_No._

Xaphan launched at him.

Dean let the rage take control, dominate him, animate his limbs and drive him forward. Their swords met in a hail of sparks, archangel blade colliding with Stygian blade.

"Heaven's favorite," Xaphan growled, forcing Dean's blade back toward his neck. "Please. Without Michael inside of you, you're just an empty vessel with an ego."

"Michael's gone," Dean retorted. "And _I'm still here_."

Dean kicked Xaphan in the stomach, sending him backwards just enough to grant Dean some room to maneuver. He flipped Gabriel's blade around and bashed the hilt into Xaphan's face, breaking his vessel's nose. Dean drew back quickly. Electricity crackled up and down the blade, and Dean directed it right at the fallen angel.

_Crrrrr-ACK!_

Dean felt the almost mind-blowing shock through his entire body, and after a moment, he realized that he'd just acted as a lightning rod. A bolt from the sky had made its way through him and discharged at the end of the archangel blade, nailing Xaphan directly in the chest. He dropped to the ground, twitching as if taken by a seizure. Dean dropped to his knees, entire body aching and tingling. His limbs weren't responding the way he wanted them to.

Crowley hauled him to his feet. "Not yet, darling," he muttered, and he managed to get Dean standing again. He pushed him unceremoniously at Xaphan, who was forcing himself back up. Dean stumbled towards him. Xaphan was on his knees by the time Dean reached him. Dean stared down at him. He laid the archangel blade on Xaphan's shoulder.

The fallen angel glared up at him defiantly.

"It won't save the angels. It won't open Heaven. It won't bring Castiel back," Xaphan hissed at him. "I may have lost this war, but you are the one who truly lost today, Dean Winchester."

Dean leaned close and whispered, "This is for Castiel."

He stabbed Xaphan in the heart. The angel gasped, mouth open in shock. His eyes glowed a feverish bright blue. Dean jerked out the blade, and his body collapsed to the ground. There was a flash of blinding light. When Dean could see again, there were the outlines of burnt, ripped up wings emblazoned on the concrete.

It was done.

But it didn't feel done to Dean.

He dropped down next to Xaphan, and he drove in the archangel blade again. And again. And again. He wasn't able to stop himself, wasn't able to stop the repetitive motion of stabbing, of destroying, because he didn't feel better _why didn't he feel better–_

"That's for my car..." He found himself muttering, shoulders shaking with anger, with sorrow, with fear. "My home... for Kevin, for Bobby... for my fucking angel you killed, _you bastard_ , you fucking BASTARD!" Suddenly, Xaphan was the cause of every pain, every death, every drop of blood spilled in the entirety of his life.

"Dean," Crowley – or maybe Sam? – called his name quietly _._ "Dean... he's dead. You can stop now."

But he kept stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing. Because wasn't there supposed to be some magical light, now, an explosion or some shit? Wasn't he supposed to die? Xaphan had lied. He must have lied. Heaven would open again, it _had_ to open... it was all supposed to end, but nothing was happening...and... and...

"It's not enough, Dean-o."

Dean froze at the sound of the voice behind him, finally pausing in his efforts to cut Xaphan into a million pieces. He was soaked in blood, reeked of it, practically... felt weighed down by it. But he didn't care.

He didn't care about anything, anymore. He turned his head, and he saw who was standing behind him.

Gabriel.

He'd never seen the archangel look so sad.

"What are you doing here?" Dean growled. "You have the balls to not show up and help until it's already too late? Until... until he's already dead?" He turned to face him fully, not caring about the tears streaming down his face. "You son of a bitch, he died, and you could've stopped it. But you were too much of a fucking _coward_."

Crowley watched Gabriel. He was silent, for once. Gabriel paid him no heed, looking only at Dean.

Dean wanted some kind of reaction from the angel. Wanted Gabriel to beat him senseless, or to scream at him, or laugh at him, mock him... he wanted anything from him, but got nothing. Gabriel just stared at him, arms crossed, gold eyes seemingly blank.

Dean threw down the archangel blade. "SAY SOMETHING!" he screamed, voice breaking, stumbling to his feet. His limbs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each. "YOU COULD'VE SAVED HIM! YOU COULD'VE HELPED!"

"You're just never gonna get it, are you?" Gabriel asked in a monotone.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean demanded.

"God's will," Gabriel said simply. "You can't fight city hall."

"You're saying God _willed this!?_ " he exploded. "You're saying His plan was for him to die!? For all of this to be for nothing!?"

"All the dominoes gotta fall in the right place. The universe is a ball of a yarn with infinite strings, and He's the only one who knows what goes where," Gabriel replied.

"What happened to free will? To choice?" Dean challenged. "The whole thing we've been fighting for this entire damn time! The thing Cas _died_ for!"

"Doesn't exist. Not really," Gabriel said. "I guess that's more of a philosophical question. You can make whatever choices you want... but God already knew what you were gonna pick long before he picked it. You do what you feel is right, but really, you're just puppets." Gabriel took a few steps toward him. "Can't believe it took me so long to figure it out."

Gabriel bent down and picked up his archangel blade. If Dean had any care left for his own life, he would've tensed.

"I know why Dad brought me back, now," Gabriel said. "It wasn't a reward, or a punishment, or anything, really. He just needed me to play my part. He knew exactly where I would end up... right here."

"You knew," Crowley whispered. "You knew this whole time, didn't you? What the real third trial was?"

Gabriel snorted mirthlessly. "You do realize anytime you say my name, I tune into your conversations to hear what you're saying, right?"

So he _had_ known.

Gabriel met Dean's eyes. He offered the blade to Dean. "Time for the final act."

Dean stared at the sword. "Are you... asking me to kill you?"

"No," Gabriel said with a shake of his head. "I'm telling you to. I'm gonna sacrifice myself to open up Heaven again... just like God intended," he said sourly.

"You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. And so do you."

"No," Dean said firmly. "I want people to stop playing their fucking parts. It's dinner theater for an audience of one, and it's about goddamn time the curtain comes down."

"It's a nice thought," Gabriel conceded. "But that's not how the cookie crumbles. We're always playing our roles... whether we know it or not, whether we like it or not."

"We tore up the rule book before. Why not do it again?"

"You only tore up the rule book because He wanted you to. He didn't want the apocalypse. He just wanted everything leading up to it."

"Why? Why the hell would he want so much suffering, so much pain, so much death? What kind of God is He!?"

Gabriel's smile was a dead one. "God only knows." He nodded at the archangel blade. "Finish this."

Dean made no move to do anything. "I'm sick of watching people die."

Gabriel pinned him with his eyes, and Dean could feel his power, feel the strength of Heaven radiating from him. For the first time, he acknowledged Gabriel for what he truly was: the first, the highest, the oldest being still alive in the universe. Or at least the oldest one that still cared.

"Don't let their deaths be for nothing, Dean," he said.

And Dean thought of Cas, Cas limp, Cas pale, Cas's eyes staring at nothing, Cas dying with "I love you" on his lips. He thought of the sound of Bobby's body hitting the floor in Ackergill, he thought of Kevin still and silent on Sam's bed with the bloody holes in him and– _it isn't fucking fair it isn't fucking **right** what kind of God would do this_–

And then he was driving the blade into Gabriel's chest, because the archangel was the closest thing to God Dean Winchester was ever going to see.

Gabriel coughed, blood staining his lips. Dean thought he saw fear in his eyes.

Dean went to pull out the blade, but before he could, everything went black.

* * *

"Why didn't you answer my prayers before I opened Purgatory? I begged you for guidance, but you said nothing. You allowed me to do evil in your name, to release the Leviathans. Why?"

"I had to get you from Point A to Point B. If all of that crap with Purgatory and the Leviathans hadn't happened, you wouldn't be who you are now, and I needed you to be who you are now. The _world_ needed you to be who you are now."

"But all of the suffering I caused–"

"It's the way of life. We all make mistakes, and our strength is always going to be tested. But we need suffering, because without it, we can't know joy."

"Surely the same thing could've been accomplished with less death," Cas argued.

Chuck's expression turned to one of a great and ancient kind of sadness. "It's hard to explain, but I imagine the universe as one massive ball of yarn. You pull one thread the wrong way, and the entire thing unravels. It had to be this way. At least to get this ending."

"You still haven't told me what this ending _is_."

"Gotta be patient, Cas. You'll know soon enough... but I just want you to know that you did well. I'm proud of you."

"But... I've destroyed so much."

"So have I," Chuck replied gravely. "I knew it when I created you that you were going to rain chaos down on the universe, but I also knew that you were going to help save it. More than once." He smiled at Cas. "My little rebel. The angel that bit the hand that fed him. The angel that dared to fall in love with a human."

"Is that your way of telling me that you approve of my feelings for Dean?"

Chuck laughed, pulling Cas into a hug, which surprised him. "Yeah, I approve. Now get the hell out of here. I've got to have a word with your brothers and sisters."

"Father–"

Chuck pulled back, holding Cas's face in his hands. "Goodbye, Cas."

Cas was swept up in a heavenly glow, and drifted away.

* * *

Crowley watched them both collapse, archangel and Righteous Man alike. He then forced himself to look away from the intense brightness of Gabriel's Grace imploding on itself. When he looked back, the imprint of the archangel's wings were burned into the top of Holyland Tower, right next to Xaphan's, which were significantly smaller.

Dean wasn't moving. His eyes were closed.

Sam took over, ripping back control without Crowley's consent. He went to his brother, sliding to his knees next to him. He gripped Dean's arms, expecting to feel sparks, to feel an electric current.

He felt nothing. Dean was cold.

"No, no," Sam said, voice trembling with fear. "No, Heaven restores, Hell destroys. You're not supposed to die. Dean. _Dean._ " He shook his brother almost violently. "You can't do this to me! You wouldn't let me die, you forced me to live! You don't get to do this! I won't let you!"

_Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you. It has never been like that. Ever._

"DEAN!"

 _"Sam... look up..."_ Crowley spoke in his head.

He did.

"Angels...?"

Little currents of blue swirled up from the ground, shooting towards the black clouds above, the black clouds which now were glowing gold in places. The entire earth seemed to shake underneath him. He heard a piecing ringing, and he was forced to release Dean and cover his ears. He bent his head, groaning.

"What is that?"

_"Angels... they're rising..."_

The whole world was illuminated by the eerie blue of the angel's true forms. They were going home.

The high pitched ringing got louder.

 _"And they're singing,"_ Crowley added, seeming almost awed. _"They haven't sang in millions of years."_

"It worked?" Sam muttered. "It's over?"

"I... I think it is," Charlie said over the earpiece.

"All the satelite feeds are down," Hardison informed them. "We're blind."

"It's beautiful," Charlie said. "I'm... Claire and I are on the roof. There's hundreds of them. More survived the war than I thought."

"We did it," Sam whispered. He looked back down at his brother. Dean was still, his skin going gray. Sam felt a tear slip down his cheek.

_Don't you dare think that there is anything–_

It wasn't worth it. It wasn't. He didn't care about Heaven, about the angels, it wasn't worth losing him.

_Past or present–_

"Dean. Dean, please. _Please._ You've got to wake up. You have to."

_That I would ever put in front of you–_

"After all this, you can't. You can't leave me here."

_It's never been like that._

"God... _please_..."

_Ever._


	81. After the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get worse, and then... better?

Dean's eyes opened slowly. He saw black, he saw blue. He saw... Sam.

"Dean?" Sam's hands held on tight to his shoulders. "Thank God." His brother dragged him up into a sitting position, then pulled him into a desperate hug. "I thought– I thought I'd lost you."

Dean said nothing, but he did wrap his arms around Sam's back. Sam was solid. Sam was alive. Dean was mostly sure that it was done, that they'd made it to the other side of the war.

The dark sky overhead was illuminated by a heavenly blue. _They're going home._

"Sammy... did we do it?"

He felt Sam nod. "We did it. _You_ did it."

"Well, he had help," Charlie chimed over the earpiece.

"Hell of a lot," Dean agreed.

They fell silent. Dean saw lights begin to flick on all over the city.

"Everyone's waking up," Charlie said.

"Drone feeds are back on," added Hardison. "Looks like most of the demons have bailed. Angels are gone.. all that's left are the bodies."

Sam pulled back from Dean. He put a hand on the side of his face. "Are you alright?"

"No." Because he wasn't. He wasn't sure that he ever would be.

His entire body felt like it was about to give out, now that he was absent the energy of the trials.

Sam hugged him again.

It began to rain.

* * *

Claire asked them where they wanted to go.

Without thinking, Dean said, "Singer Salvage."

Sam didn't question it. Neither did Charlie or Claire. The last angel left on Earth took them to the burnt out carcass of Bobby's house. She then returned to Jerusalem so she could take Charlie to Portland.

Charlie had talked about throwing the Man Tablet into a volcano, and seducing 'the good chaplain' off of the road of righteousness, or something like that. Dean hadn't really listened, truth be told. Claire had said that she was simply going home to her mother, and hadn't elaborated beyond that.

Once at Bobby's, Crowley vacated Sam's body, saying he was going to go procure another vessel.

Dean and Sam were alone.

The two of them stumbled down into Bobby's still intact basement. Sam forced Dean to sit down so he could tend to his wounds. Getting the first aid kit that was thankfully still there, Sam began to thoroughly cleanse the many injuries Dean had gotten over the course of the day. A massive laceration on Dean's back proved difficult, and would likely scar. Sam stitched it as best as he could, but made no promises as to how well it would heal.

After that, they went to sleep. Sam slept on the floor, insisting that Dean take the cot in the panic room. It was cold and uncomfortable. Dean still slept for almost twelve hours straight.

They woke up the next day and ate lukewarm pork and beans from Bobby's emergency survival supplies. They barely spoke.

Crowley never came back.

Sam didn't seem surprised.

Later that day, Sam and Dean walked side by side through the salvage yard, both of them with slumped shoulders. Yesterday, they'd saved the world. They'd saved _all_ the worlds.

Yet today, it felt like they'd lost everything.

No Cas. No bunker. No Impala. No Crowley. Kevin and Bobby were gone. Claire was back with her mother. Charlie was in Portland cleaning up the post-Jerusalem mess.

He hadn't felt so low since Dad died.

They stopped when they reached Bobby's '71 Chevelle, which was rusted and devoid of tires, now. Dean ran his hand over the hood. Before Ackergill, Dean had planned to help Bobby restore it, once the war was over and everything had settled.

Dean sighed.

Sam's footsteps caught his attention. Sam was standing in a vacant spot between an Oldsmobile and a Grand Marquis that had definitely seen better days. He held a handkerchief in his hand. Definitely expensive, and monogrammed with a C. Dean realized after a moment that it must've been from the day they'd captured Crowley.

Hard to believe it wasn't even five months ago that they'd been there, ready to cure Crowley, ready to close the Gates of Hell forever.

Sam's jaw was tight, gray eyes awash with sorrow.

"He's not coming back, is he?" Sam murmured. Dean didn't need to ask who 'he' was. He walked over to Sam's side and clapped his little brother on the shoulder.

"You know what they say, man... if you love something, you gotta let it go."

"Are you gonna let Cas go?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean swallowed with difficulty. "Never."

Sam pocketed the handkerchief.

* * *

Something was meowing.

Strange.

Cas forced himself to open his eyes. The small movement required a ridiculous amount of effort. He stared up at bright blue sky. Puffy white clouds drifted by, occasionally obscuring the sun. Birds chittered and sang in the distance. He felt dirt underneath him.

_Where am I?_

Cas felt something lick his face. He jerked, startled, and turned his head to the side. Sitting on the ground next to him was a plump gray cat with amber eyes. It mewed at him, nuzzling its nose into his ear.

"...Aziraphale?" he choked out, shocked to see the cat.

Aziraphale purred.

With a great groan, Cas pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked around him. He knew where he was, it was tickling the end of his conscience... there were downed trees everywhere, the ground seemed as though it had been burnt, ripped up by giant hands... it looked like a battlefield.

"Pontiac," he breathed. "I'm in Pontiac."

Right where he had raised Dean from Hell.

He looked to his side. The splintered wooden cross that had once been Dean's gravemarker was still there.

He gathered up Aziraphale into his arms. The cat demanded to be petted, so he appeased it. Cas was very confused.

"It appears I'm alive," he told the cat.

The cat did not reply.

"God... He brought me back again..."

Still no help from Crowley's damned cat.

"I need to find Dean."

* * *

"Let's fix Bobby's car."

Sam glanced up at him. They were in the basement, eating a can of cold green beans and trying not to puke in the process.

"The Chevelle?"

"Yeah."

Sam choked down another bite. "Why?"

"We need a car. It's not Baby, but... it's still special. Plus, can't beat a devil's trap in the trunk, right?"

Sam chewed, eyes distant.

"Okay. Let's do it."

Sam and Dean went into town the next day. They bought another cot, a mini-fridge, a microwave, and new clothes. Every newspaper in town cried terrorism, and every page was filled with the details of what had happened in Jerusalem. Or at least, what the media and world government thought had happened.

When they got home, they started repairs on the Chevelle. Dean worked under the hood while Sam tried to do something about the exterior. They had re-microwaved KFC for dinner. Dean had managed to get the stereo in the Chevelle working. They listened to the Joni Mitchell tape Bobby had in there and pretended to like it.

Sam went to bed early. Dean drank half of the bottle of Wild Turkey he'd bought in Sioux Falls. It managed to get him to sleep, but it didn't help him stay asleep.

He missed Cas.

* * *

Crowley took his meat suit's son. He was a spitting image of his original vessel. You could barely tell the difference.

Then, Crowley went home.

_It's not home, and you know it._

Then, Crowley went back to Hell.

After his admittedly impressive performance in Jerusalem, every demon in Creation was lining up to kiss his feet. He executed the big offenders, those who had betrayed him without a second thought and served Abaddon and Xaphan all the way through until the end, but he let most of his forces live. It would be a pity to have a kingdom with no subjects after all, yeah?

He made Laharl his right hand man, giving him the position of duke. He even diverted some of the flow of Hell souls to his faithful sidekick. Laharl had stayed with him through everything, even when he was at his absolute lowest. He surely deserved a reward for his unwavering loyalty.

"This is my way of saying that I'm sorry I subjected you to brutal torture," Crowley told the other demon. Laharl grinned.

Crowley took out the racks. He put the never ending queue back in. Strauss's "Blue Danube" echoed through the hallways, accomponied only by the sound of shuffling feet.

Days passed by slow. Too slow. Granted, things were always like that in Hell, but it wasn't just the inter-dimensional time differential that was getting to him.

He missed Sam.

He missed Sam every minute of every damn day. He felt empty, hated hearing nothing but silence over their connection. He couldn't _feel_ Sam, and maybe that was the worst thing of all. The quiet was too loud, far too loud, and with the racks gone, there were no screams to drown it out.

He was King. He had the throne, the unquestioning army that could've destroyed the world, if he ordered them too. He was the most powerful demon on the planet. The most powerful _anything_ , really, with the angels all tucked back in their proper beds.

He'd never been more miserable.

"Boss?"

Crowley looked up. He'd been going over a high stakes Crossroads contract. He was slumped on his throne, head resting on his fist, bored out of his bloody mind.

"Yes, Laharl?"

"If you don't mind me saying... you look like you wanna die."

"You're not wrong." Crowley tossed him the contract. "Finish looking at this, would you? It bores me rigid."

"Sure," Laharl said with a shrug. "Why don't you take a break, or something? Go see Rocky and Bullwinkle and listen to them cry about their little lost angel."

"I can't do that," Crowley replied tersely.

"...Why not?"

"Because... it wouldn't be right," Crowley said, drawing up his shoulders. "Hell or Earth. Demon or human. I can't have both... I choose this."

Laharl shot him a dubious look.

"Whatever you say, boss."

* * *

He tried Dean's number. Straight to voicemail. As Cas suspected, Dean's cell had gotten destroyed at some point over the past few weeks.

He was going to have to find Dean himself. He decided that Portland was the best place to start: perhaps Charlie's friends there would know where to find Charlie, and Charlie would know where to find Dean.

Cas soon found that hitch-hiking was hard.

Hitch-hiking was even harder when you had a cat with you.

Cas wasn't exactly sure why he didn't leave Crowley's resurrected cat behind, but he knew somewhere deep down that the feline was important in some way. So he found ways to keep him fed and happy, and he tried not to get too irritated when people saw him with a cat and pointedly didn't slow their cars down.

He managed to make it to Colorado before he ran into trouble.

"Can't believe it," said one of the demons who had captured him.

There were a band of ten of them. Cas hadn't had his angel blade when he'd woken up in the field in Pontiac, so they were able to overpower him with relative ease, much to his displeasure.

"You're _still alive!_ Man, the King is gonna be happy to see you. Bet he's got a special kind of torture all lined up. He's still sour about the Purgatory deal, you know."

"Oh, I know," Cas said. Aziraphale was hissing at the demons, weaving around Cas's legs with his hackles raised. Cas was currently tied to a chair in an abandoned factory. It hadn't been a fun day, but he knew once Crowley was called, everything would be fine.

"Someone put the call through," one of the other demons ordered. A cell phone was pulled out, 6-6-6 was dialed. Crowley's voice crackled over the speaker.

"What is it, Kal? I'm very busy."

"Sir, you're not going to believe who we found."

"Who?" Crowley asked tiredly, sounding thoroughly disinterested.

"Castiel."

A brief pause.

"Well, I'll be literally and metaphorically damned. Kitten... it's so very good to see you."

Crowley was standing right in front of him. There were subtle differences in his new vessel, but he looked more or less the same.

Crowley's eyes then went to Aziraphale and widened almost comically.

"Azi...?"

The cat padded towards him, meowing joyfully. Crowley scooped him up with a near child-like grin on his face, stroking a hand down his spine.

"Wonders never cease," the demon king remarked.

"Uh... sir..." the demon named Kal urged him. "Shouldn't you be... torturing him, now? Or– or something?"

"Torture?" Crowley asked. "Bloody Hell, get with the times. Cas and I are besties. Isn't that right, Cas?"

Cas nodded. "Yes. I believe the term is thick as thieves, yes?"

"Right on the nose, darling."

The demons were incredibly confused.

"That's code for, 'Get the hell out of here before I skin you alive'," Crowley offered helpfully.

They all left post-haste.

Crowley attended to his cat for a few more moments before setting Aziraphale gently at his feet. Aziraphale wove between his legs, effervescent. Crowley snapped his fingers, and Cas's restraints disappeared.

"You're going to have to explain this one to me," Crowley told him.

"God brought me back," Cas replied simply.

"Hmm. Bit of a tired storyline, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. God seemed to think so."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up at that. "I do believe you and I need to have a drink and catch up."

* * *

They worked on the Chevelle. They ate shitty food. They tried not to drown in their own misery. Days passed. The heat was bad in South Dakota in September. During the day they worked in the garage to try to avoid the weather and the bugs, but at night they would wheel it out into the salvage yard and work on it under the stars by the light of a Coleman lantern.

Dean bought the only semi-decent music he could at a convenience store five minutes down the highway. A Johnny Cash eight track. They played it out of the Chevelle's stereo. Sam didn't even complain that much.

"What are we gonna do when this is done, Dean?" Sam would ask.

Sam received the same response every single time: "I don't know."

* * *

Crowley and Cas got plastered on Craig, all in the name of celebrating both Cas and Aziraphale's respective resurrections. Crowley told Cas how the battle in Jerusalem had ended after Cas was killed, and Cas told Crowley about his conversation with Daddy Dearest.

Crowley told Cas nothing of what happened after the battle.

Cas soon realized it was because Crowley hadn't been with the Winchesters since it ended.

"I don't understand," Cas said, his speech heavily slurred. They were in a high-end bar in Boulder, and Crowley had already bought a round of drinks for everyone in the establishment at least five times. "Why wouldn't you be with the boys? Or at least've... visited them?" He broke off into a hiccup. Oh, he'd really had too much.

"It's complicated," Crowley said, who was much too sober by comparison, though his cheeks were flushed by the alcohol and he was slightly off-kilter.

"But you and Sam're sexually involved," Cas pointed out. He made the appropriate gesture with his fingers.

"I've never fucked Sam Winchester, nor has he fucked me, if that's what you're asking," Crowley retorted.

"But you want to, don't you? You love Sam. It's written all over y'face. You love Sam the way I love Dean."

Crowley laughed. "Oh-ho! He finally admits it! Only took you, what, six, seven years?"

"I find confessing such things's much eas'r when under the influence of alcohol," Cas produced, stifling another hiccup and trying not to stumble too horrendously over his words. "I love Dean. Like... like..." He fumbled for the right comparison. "Like you said, the Doctor and Rose."

"We never did finish _Doctor Who_. We only made it to series five," Crowley remembered.

"We've got all the time in the world now," Cas said. "Or until I meet my mortal demise. That's depressing to think about." Cas drained the rest of his current glass of Craig, then slammed it down on the bar top and motioned for another. "D'y'know where they are? We can go back t'gether."

The bartender reluctantly filled Cas another glass.

"I'm not going back, Kitten."

"Why not?" the once angel whined. Crowley hadn't seen Cas so drunk since their wetting down after the first angel trial.

"Because I'm not meant to be palling around with the saviors of the human race. I'm a demon. I belong in Hell."

"The whole reason you rebelled against Lucifer was 'cause you didn't wanna belong in Hell. You wanted Earth to stay like it is, 'cause you love it that way. You love Earth, and you love Sam, and you love being free. Why're you trapping yourself in Hell? Doesn't make any– _hic–_ sense."

"I don't have any other choice. A demon and a human? A human addicted to demon blood? It would never work. And never mind the fact that sooner rather than later, Moose'll die... and what exactly am I supposed to do then, hmm? Then he's dead, and I'm alone. Alive, and alone, forever and ever and ever." He sipped at his Craig. "Oh, it's a love story for the ages."

"If y'don't like it, then jus... just become human."

Crowley shot Cas a sharp look. "That's ridiculous."

"Not really," Cas replied. "I mean, I did it. And if I can do it, anybody can." He took a healthy gulp of Craig. "It's better this way, believe me. It's horrible at first... and confusing, and, and you have to ask yourself questions like, 'why am I sticky?'... but once you get your bearings, it's quite– _hic–_ quite pleasant."

"Well, you just have it all figured out, don't you?" Crowley asked dryly. "You should start a self-help circuit."

Cas shook his head adamantly. "I've had very bad luck with motivational speakers," he said. "But, I think of it like this: when I was an angel, things between Dean and I were... difficult. Now that I'm human, they're less difficult. I hope– hope once I find him– _hic–_ maybe, maybe we can be together. I would like that very much. I like Dean very much. He's very special, and I'm happy to not be an angel, if it means I can spend the rest of my life with him."

Drunk Cas was a little too wise for Crowley's taste.

"I'll hurt Sam."

"I've hurt Dean," Cas waved him off. "Dean's hurt me. Hurting, it's... it's s'okay, sometimes. If you love more than you hurt."

"I don't even know if I can love," Crowley admitted with surprising honesty. _Must be the booze._

"Y'can. Haven't you been doing that the whole time? With Sam? Even with Dean, me, Claire, Charlie even... you've treated us with love."

"I wouldn't take it that far."

"S'true."

Crowley sipped contemplatively at his drink. "Would you help me?" he asked. _Don't do it. Don't. Why are you even thinking about this?_

"Do what?"

"Become human. You _are_ human, after all. We know the ritual."

"Y'want _me_ to cure _you_?"

"I'm just brainstorming, it's not like I'm handing you a syringe and telling you to pump me full of your precious lifeblood."

"I could," Cas offered. "I mean, I– I could. I _would_."

Cas downed what must've been his twenty fifth glass of Craig. He waved for the bartender to get him another, but Crowley shot him a pointed look.

"You've had enough."

"I'm fine!" Cas protested.

"Say the alphabet backwards."

"Z... W..."

"We're going home." Crowley rose from his stool, dragging Castiel to his feet. The ex-angel stumbled into him. With a roll of his eyes, Crowley tugged Cas's arm over his shoulder and supported the angel out of the bar.

"Our home blew up," Cas reminded him.

"Then we'll go to a hotel." Crowley raised a hand and flagged down a cab. "I need friends who can handle their liquor better."

* * *

Dean stared at the almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels he'd picked up from the store yesterday. Sam was currently patching the holes in the Chevelle's interior. They were getting close to being done fixing it up. All they had left to do was tamper with the alignment and fix the tie rods, and it would be as good as new.

As for what they would do after that, he didn't know.

"Did you love him?" Dean croaked, and he was already halfway to drunk, but he didn't care. It made him forget. Forgetting was good.

Sam glanced up. "You've asked me that before."

"You never answered."

Sam drew out of the car. He laid his hands on the top, jaw working. "I didn't love him."

Dean just nodded.

"I _do_ love him."

Dean looked back up sharply. "Never expected to hear that from you. I mean, he obviously had a thing for you. I just didn't know if you were... into that."

Sam shrugged. "For Crowley, I guess I'd be into just about anything. He's... important."

Dean suddenly felt a stab of guilt, remembering his conversation with Crowley before Jerusalem. _"Sometimes... you just gotta let things go."_

What if Crowley had taken his advice?

"I'm sorry he left," Dean said. "If it counts for anything. He was... he's good. I don't know how, but you made that little bastard good."

Sam's mouth did that twitching thing that meant he was upset. "I didn't make him good," he said. "He chose to be good."

"Choices," Dean mused. "Guess that's what really matters."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "...And he chose to leave."

* * *

Crowley paced around their hotel room, occasionally glancing at Castiel, who was snoring heavily on the bed. Aziraphale was curled up on the ex-angel's chest, purring along happily.

_Just become human, he says. Like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like I wouldn't be giving up everything._

Crowley pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. Why was he even _thinking_ about _considering_ what Cas had said? It was ridiculous, the drunken ramblings of a naive angel.

He couldn't just give up Hell. Give up being King. Not after fighting for so long to get it back. He would be sacrificing an eternity of rule... of being one of the strongest beings to ever crawl out of Hell. He'd spent the better part of four centuries fighting to get to the top, and now that he was there...

He hated it.

_You can't throw this all away. You have everything you could ever want._

Then why did it feel like he had nothing at all?

He could have Sam back. Dean and Cas, too. He didn't know what he would do, what would follow, but...

_I would have Sam._

Crowley pulled out his phone. He dialed Laharl's number.

The other demon picked up immediately. "Yeah boss?"

"Laharl... how would you feel about a little promotion?"

* * *

In the bordering on full darkness of the basement, Sam said, "You died back there, you know."

Dean shifted on his cot. His eyes went to where he knew his little brother was, even though he couldn't see him. "What, in Jerusalem?"

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a few minutes.

"Dean... I think God brought you back," Sam broached tentatively.

"Why would he bother? He hasn't lifted a finger to do anything else. Why bring me back?"

"I don't know. I mean, it would make sense that the trial would kill you... the demon trials required a sacrifice, so why not the angel ones, too? But when I... when I thought you were gone, I sorta– I prayed."

"And you think God answered your prayer?"

He could practically hear Sam shrugging when he said, "It's the only thing I can figure."

Dean closed his eyes, sighing deeply. "Maybe," he conceded. "But there's a flaw in your logic, Sammy."

"What?"

"If he brought me back, then why the hell didn't he bring Cas back, too?"

"...I don't know."

Dean turned over on his side.

"Hey– Dean, look, he's... he's in a better place now. At least Cas finally found some peace."

"I didn't want him to find peace," Dean said. "I want his ass down here with us, where it belongs."

After that, Sam didn't respond. Dean drifted into a fitful slumber.

* * *

"Kitten. Wake up."

Cas groaned. Waking up was not on the list of things he wanted to do at the moment. His head pounded. His stomach felt like it was doing a tumbling routine. The idea of even opening his eyes made him want to dry heave.

"Ah. Right. Crippling hangover." Two hot fingers pressed to his forehead. A second later, Cas felt perfectly fine. Ah, demon medicine. It was appreciated from time to time.

"Thank you," Cas breathed. He opened his eyes. Crowley stood over him. Sunlight streamed through the windows. He checked the clock. It was well past three o'clock in the afternoon.

"I have a favor to ask."

Cas sat up, eyeing Crowley warily. "What is it?"

Crowley gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "You're not afraid of needles, are you?"

* * *

"I think I found a hunt."

The two of them were walking around the salvage yard as the sunset, needing to stretch their legs. The Chevelle was done. Some gas, and she would be more than roadworthy.

"A hunt," Sam repeated.

"Yeah. Um. There's been some weird deaths over in San Fran. China Town. I think it might be an Okami. We could get there in a few days, take care of it. I know a Shinto priest in Nevada we could stop and see, get the blessed dagger. Hell, we could pick up Charlie on the way, see if she wants in."

Dean kept his eyes trained on his shoes as he spoke.

"I mean..." Sam scratched the back of his head. They'd been in a kind of purgatory for the past two weeks. Living, just barely. Trying to forget. Trying to move on. Trying to figure out what to do next when they had nothing. "Are you sure you want to get back out there?"

"What else is there for us to do, Sam?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "We could... I don't know. We could try the whole normal life thing. If you want."

Dean sighed. "You know, I actually thought about it. I really did. I looked around this place, and I thought, why not get it back up and running? Why not fix cars, make some money, do our taxes and pull our pants on one leg at a time like everyone else?"

"What changed?"

Dean stopped at the edge of the salvage yard, staring out into the setting sun. "Things use to be simple. Used to be me, you, in a car, hunting monsters. I think... after everything, after these past few years... we could use simple. We need simple. But we gotta do what's right for us, too." He kicked at an old sun-bleached beer can on the ground. "Hunting's always been what's right for us."

Sam stuck his hands in his pockets. "We could still do it. What we talked about before. Restarting the Men of Letters. Getting organized. Trying to make the job better."

"Maybe," Dean conceded. "But right now... it's just gotta be us. That's it. We need time."

Sam watched his brother. "You don't want to get close to anyone again, do you?"

Dean turned away from Sam and started heading back towards the burnt out carcass of Bobby's house. "Hell no."


	82. Land of the Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam and Dean totally don't have 'moments', and God may or may not be an asshole.

Cas and Crowley drove to Pennsylvania.

Crowley had a very specific place in mind for his cure. They took his Bentley, and they switched off as they took the near thousand mile trip across the country. Aziraphale napped and plodded around the backseat, occasionally meowing in irritation at being pent up in a vehicle for so long.

There was something strange about that, he and Cas being on the road together. Talk about unlikely travel companions. At one point Crowley wondered aloud which one of them was Sam and which one of them was Dean in their scenario. Cas informed Crowley that his personality was more in line with Dean's, and his own was more in line with Sam's.

They proceeded to argue about it for the next sixty miles.

Crowley drove when Cas had to sleep. He wasn't great behind the wheel, given that he'd only driven a vehicle a handful of times in his long life. What was the point, when he could just zap from place to place?

_Won't be able to do that for much longer though, will I?_

It was when Cas's snoring was the only other sound in the car, and the moon was bright in the stark black sky that Crowley realized the true implications of what he was about to do. He was going to give it all up, everything inside of him, everything he had, for one human. For Sam bloody Winchester.

It should have given him pause.

It didn't.

* * *

It felt wrong going somewhere without Cas. It had been a long time since it had just been he and Sam on the road. Months, but it felt longer. The time between the beginning of the war and the end seemed like years, seemed like a damn lifetime. Had it all really been just one summer?

Still, the road gave him peace, at least a little. The routine was comfortable, familiar, and it was the closest thing to calm he'd felt since... since _it_ happened. The miles peeled away fast. The trees were starting to turn, and the highways were lined with yellow, orange, and red. Fall was coming swift and hard.

_Time marches on._

He and Sam didn't talk much on the way. There wasn't really anything left to say that they hadn't already said to one another over the past two weeks.

They stopped in Portland and visited Charlie. Dean was just glad they still knew someone who was actually alive and present.

"What's up, bitches?" She hugged them both as soon as she saw them, trademark Charlie grin on her face. They'd met her at some bar and restaurant in Portland. She'd led them through the tables and crowds of people to the bar, where a surly looking guy with hair that hung down to his shoulders was standing behind the counter, arms crossed.

"Eliot, this is Sam and Dean. My friends."

"The ones Hardison says are crazy?"

"...yeah, those would be the ones."

Eliot extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. We do a lot of crazy around here."

Sam and Dean both shook his hand. Dean was pretty sure he felt some of the bones in his fingers snap. Guy had one hell of a grip.

"So," Sam said, taking a seat on one side of Charlie while Dean took the other. "How've you been, since Jerusalem?"

"Good, good!" Charlie said, smiling, but there was something strained about it. "I took Ronnie back to DC. She's a Navy Chaplain, did you know that? Really cool chick. Depressingly straight, but still. And then I came back here, and, well... now I have a permanent job! One that I don't have to use fake IDs and fake references for!"

"I feel like you're gonna tell us you're in the mob, now," Dean admitted.

"Not the mob," said Eliot. He leaned on the counter. "Charlie is now an official employee of Leverage Incorporated."

"The hell's that?" Dean asked.

"Um, you know the whole Robin Hood shtick? Steal from the rich, give to the poor? Well, that's kind of what they do," Charlie explained. "Only it's legit! For the most part. I mean, they're on the radar of every law enforcement agency on the planet, but well, no job's perfect, right?"

"Hardison's getting married here soon. Busy as hell. We needed another hacker to help out," Eliot provided. "Plus, we were thinking of expanding, anyway."

"Hardison and I met at ComicCon like, forever ago. I've helped him out with a few things over the years, including a big job they did last month- which was why I had to bail on you guys post-Eden."

"Post-Eden?" Eliot repeated, brow furrowed.

"I'll tell you later," she told him. "But yeah, long story short, I'm going to be staying in Portland for awhile... unless you guys need me?" Did she sound hopeful? Dean wasn't sure.

"Nah, we got this, Charlie. You've got something good here, you should run with it. Me and Sam, we're just..." He searched for the right words.

"Playing it by ear," Sam offered.

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

"That's the Winchester Way, right?" Charlie seemed troubled by something, but she didn't elaborate. "Speaking of... okay, not really speaking of, but I couldn't come up with a better segue: where's our resident King? Busy cleaning things up down in Hell?"

Sam's expression remained exactly the same as it had before, but Dean saw something break in his brother's eyes. He gave Charlie a look, shaking his head ever-so-slightly in warning. Charlie seemed to understand.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, then turned her attention to Eliot. "Well go on then, Mr. Iron Chef. Wow us with your culinary know-how."

Eliot set about cooking them dinner. Charlie chattered on about Leverage, and Portland, and a million other things that Dean sometimes listened to and sometimes didn't. Regardless, it was nice to be around her. It was something to be grateful for, the fact that Charlie had made it through the war, against all odds.

Once they'd finished dinner (and what a damn good dinner it was), he and Sam bid their goodbyes and made to head back out to the car. However, Charlie halted Dean in the doorway of the bar. Sam continued on without him, not noticing that he'd been held back.

"Level with me," she said, tone serious. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged off her hand. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Dean."

He looked away. "I've watched him die before," he said lowly. "What's one more nightmare, right?"

"You look like you haven't slept in weeks."

He hadn't, not really.

"I'm fine, Charlie."

"Dean–"

"We'll try to stop by again on our way back, okay? Grab a few beers. Good luck with the whole Leverage thing." Before Charlie could say more, Dean hurried out the door, making his way through a light rain fall to the Chevelle, where Sam waited for him.

* * *

They went to San Fran. In two days, the Okami was dead, its body thrown into a woodchipper, as per the advice of the late Bobby Singer. Dean and Sam had both worked with a single-minded intensity. The hunt had made things quiet in their heads, distracted them, made them feel like themselves again.

Until it was over, and it was just the two of them in a crappy motel room, drinking cheap beer, and feeling empty.

_This isn't going to work,_ Sam thought.

But it had to work.

It was all that they had left.

* * *

"Dean?"

Dean made a grunting noise to signify that he'd heard Sam. They were cruising along a rural highway, headed back to South Dakota.

"You're not playing any music," Sam observed.

"So?" he asked, eyes glued to the road.

"You always play music. Unless we're having a moment, or something. Which we're not, right now."

"We don't have _moments_ ," Dean defended. "We just... talk."

Sam held up his hands. "Just saying, man."

Dean let out an irritated little huff of breath and turned on the radio.

_"Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light, to chase a feather in the wind... within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight... there moves a thread that has no end..."_

Dean's fingers tightened painfully on the Chevelle's steering wheel. He gritted his teeth hard. It was just a song. Just a song that he happened to hear Cas sing in the shower from time to time, or under his breath while he was making dinner, or humming when he was doing research. He didn't need to freak out about it.

_"For many hours and days that pass ever soon, the tides have caused the flame to dim. At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom... is this to end or just begin?"_

Dean pulled to the side of the backwoods highway. Got out of the car. Slammed the door.

"Dean!"

They were somewhere in Idaho. He stalked ten, twenty, thirty feet from the car, not thinking, just breathing, trying not to have a complete breakdown.

_I hate this._

He couldn't shake his grief. Couldn't get past it. Not this time around. He couldn't just stow Cas somewhere in the back of his heart and keep going. Pour half a beer out for him once in awhile and move on. Suck it up, try to sleep through the nightmares, maybe drink a little more before bed.

Last time, after Godstiel, it had been bad.

It was so much worse now.

_Because I fell in love with him._

Damn it, that was never a part of the plan.

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder and forced him to stop. He turned him around. "Where are you going?"

He shoved Sam away harder than he meant to. "I don't– I don't know, okay? I just need–" _I need him back._ Dean never finished his sentence, just briefly pinched his eyes shut and shook his head, taking a step back from Sam.

"Is it– is it Cas?"

_"Of course it's Cas!"_ he screamed. He didn't mean to, but his control was fraying, and he couldn't hold the strands together anymore. "How couldn't it be Cas!?"

He wanted Sam to shout back at him, to punch him, to do something. All he got was a look of sympathy. He threw his arms up and turned away from Sam.

"I can't... I just can't stop thinking about him, you know? Replaying over everything in my head. He could've lived, Sam. He _should've_ lived."

"You can't blame yourself for this."

"The hell I can't. I can blame myself for all of this, if I really want to. Kevin, Bobby, Cas? Their blood is on my hands. We both know it. I'm the one who made sure Hell stayed open. I couldn't stop the angels falling–"

"Dean, hating yourself won't–"

"I know it won't bring them back!" he cut across his brother. "Do you know how goddamn sick of hearing that speech I am? I can't just rationalize away the fact that Cas is _dead_ , and I'm never gonna see him again. And I swear to God, I'm gonna wake up thinking that for the rest of my life."

Dean was glad he couldn't see Sam's face. He didn't want to see his pity. He was equally glad Sam couldn't see his: he didn't want him to see the tears that were sliding down his cheeks.

_You're supposed to be the strong one._

Dean's phone rang in his pocket. He let it ring.

"You should probably get that," Sam suggested quietly.

"Why? Can't be that important. Everyone important's dead or gone."

"It could be Charlie."

True. She was all they really had left, wasn't she? Dean pulled out his cell phone.

Stared.

"What is it?" Sam asked over Dean's ring tone.

Dean showed him the Caller ID.

"...Kevin?"

* * *

Kevin heard a mourning dove.

He always liked the sound; there had been one that lived right outside his bedroom window back in Neighbor. It had woken him up before nine most mornings, but he didn't mind. With how packed his schedule had been, the bird was like a handy alarm. Now whenever he heard one, it reminded him of what his life used to be. Of a different time. A time before angels and demons, prophets and tablets. Before 'the life'.

Back when he just had _his_ life.

It took him awhile to fight out of the fog of sleep. His mind was a blurred disaster, memories scattered in broken fragments that seemed impossible to piece together. He remembered... pain. But why was he in pain? He was fine, now. He was lying on his bed in the bunker, unharmed... maybe he'd had a nightmare...

Wait.

If he was in the bunker, how was he hearing birds?

That thought was the one that finally forced his eyes open. He saw a simple plaster ceiling above him. Slowly, he lifted his head.

"What the..."

He was in his bedroom.

_His_ bedroom. In Neighbor. Everything was just as he remembered; Beige wallpaper, clean, Febreeze-y smell (courtesy of Mom), a dresser and shelf lined with trophies, walls hung heavy with academic achievement awards. His cello rested in its open case in one corner, next to his desk. His computer – which he'd built himself between his sophomore and junior year – was there, on and open to the log-in page.

Everything was just as it had been the last time he was there. Not a thing out of place.

Like he'd never even left at all.

"This doesn't make any sense," he muttered to himself, pushing himself into a full sitting position. Something fell off of his chest. A sticky note. It had a cell phone number on it he didn't recognize. Kevin put a hand in his back pocket, and sure enough, his own phone was there. He slid it out. He paused to look at the picture of himself and his mother that was his background.

Being back home made him miss her even more.

He went to dial the number, having no better idea of what to do, when he heard footsteps downstairs. He went perfectly still. Great. Someone was there in the house with him, and knowing his luck, it probably wasn't anyone friendly.

Kevin swung his legs over the side of his bed, putting socked, shoeless feet on the carpet and trying with all his might to be quiet. He knew he needed a weapon – not that one would do much good against a demon, or a Leviathan, but he had to try – and his eyes darted around his room, searching for something.

He unplugged his desk lamp, held it tight in his hand, and hoped for the best.

The footsteps were going up the stairs, now. They were light. Maybe someone small? It could just be Crowley, not that the thought comforted him much. He still didn't trust the bastard as far as he could throw him–

_"Why did you save me?"_

The memories that hit him sent him reeling, falling back against the wall. He struggled to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape his throat. He _remembered._

Daityas. The torture – the possession – unintentionally giving up all of the information on the Man Tablet–

And then Crowley fighting Daityas, who had evidently tortured him in Hell, turned him into a demon, and he let Daityas go so that Kevin would live.

_And then he possessed me._

He was gripped by a sudden fear that Crowley was still inside of him. His stomach clenched, and he waited for some kind of snarky comment in his ear, some sign that he was still sharing a body with the King of Hell.

His door opened, and Kevin snapped back to his senses. He lifted his lamp. When the intruder stepped through, he swung–

Luckily, his mother neatly dodged it, ducking so it sailed over her head and crashed into the wall.

The lamp dropped to the ground in several pieces. Kevin stared, mouth agape. _"Mom?"_

"Kevin," she said, eyes as shocked as he felt.

"How are you alive?" Kevin asked, frozen in place, rooted to the ground. _It has to be a trick. She's dead. Crowley killed her._

"I..." She shook her head. "Honestly? I'm not quite sure."

"That makes two of us." Before anything else was said, Kevin basically threw himself at his mother, wrapping his arms around her so tightly it was probably hurting her a little bit. Even if it was fake, an illusion, some sick joke, he didn't care. It was a chance to hug his mother again, and he never thought he would get that. Not in a million years.

She hugged him back just as fiercely, one hand smoothing the back of his hair down and the other digging in between his shoulder blades, refusing to let go. "You need a haircut," she said, voice trembling.

"I love you, Mom," he told her hoarsely, and hey, look at that, he was crying.

They stood like that for a long time, he didn't know how long. Kevin kept waiting for her to vanish from his grip, to be gone again, but she didn't. She was solid, she was there, she was _alive_.

Finally, she pulled away from him, eyes red-rimmed from crying. "Well... what do we do now?" she asked.

Kevin returned to his bed, scooping up the sticky note that had been on his chest. He held it up so his mother could see it. "I think we need to make a call."

* * *

"Who is this?" Dean demanded, picking up the phone. It obviously wasn't Kevin. So who was it?

"Dean?" a voice said his name, surprised. It sounded like Kevin. Exactly like Kevin. _It can't be._

"Yeah, I'm Dean. Who are you?"

"Dean, it's _me_. It's _Kevin_. I'm– I don't know how, but... I'm back, I'm home, and–" His voice broke, and he let out a shaky little laugh. "My Mom is _alive_ , Dean."

Dean felt rooted to the ground, frozen in disbelief. He clicked the phone to speaker so Sam could hear, too. "I saw your body," he said lowly. "I _burned you_. How can you be back? How can _she_ be back? That doesn't make any damn sense."

"They burned you!?" Linda shrieked in the background. Dean was shocked by how good it felt to hear her voice again, too. "You _died!?_ " He heard fumbling, the sound of a phone being passed from one set of hands to another. "I die in peace, knowing that my son is safe in your hands, and YOU GET HIM KILLED!?"

"Look, Ms. Tran, we didn't–" Sam began, but Linda wasn't done. She ranted on for the next several minutes about their utter ineptitude in regards to ensuring Kevin's wellbeing, something about 'one job', and then a vivid description of what she would do to them in recompense for letting her son die on their watch.

"Mom, just– they didn't– Mom, chill out–" Kevin tried in the background, but Linda ignored him.

By the time Tiger Mommy was done, Dean was grinning like an idiot.

"–Are we clear!?" she finished, out of breath but apparently satisfied.

Sam was smiling, too. "It's really good to have you back, Ms. Tran."

She huffed. "It's good to be back, boys," she admitted earnestly, before launching straight back into the tone of a scolding mother. "But I'm still jack-pissed! Don't you think for a second that I'm not!"

"Understood, Mam," Dean said with a nod. "Alright, well I say we figure this thing out. You guys stay there, we'll come to you."

Kevin had the phone back now. "Wait, what happened? I mean, what's _been_ happening? It's been over three weeks since I died. Did we...?"

"We won, Kev," Dean told him, grin fading. "Angels are back in Heaven. Xaphan's dead. Man Tablet's safe as it can be."

Kevin blew out a long, relieved breath. "I knew you guys could do it," he said. "I'm– I'm sorry I screwed up, Dean. I let Lailah blindside me, I gave up everything to Daityas–"

"Look, from what Crowley said, you didn't have much of a choice in the matter. It's water under the bridge. Don't beat yourself up." Dean started heading back towards the Chevelle. "We're coming. We're a few states over, should be there by tonight. Be careful. Until we know what's going on, we don't know if you're safe or not."

"Am I ever really safe?" Kevin asked tiredly.

"This time? Maybe. But we're not taking any chances..." Dean went to hang up, but before he did, he added, "And Kevin? I'm... I'm real damn glad you're back, kid. I–" Dean gulped, throat thick with emotion. "Real damn glad," he repeated.

"Me too, Dean. And just so you know... it wasn't your fault. Like, at all."

Dean wished he was functional enough that he could suck it up and accept that as a Get Out of Guilt Free card, but he couldn't. "Right. I'll see you soon." He hung up.

Sam was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Okay," his brother began. "So. You were brought back... and then Kevin and Linda are brought back, too. Three resurrections in less than three weeks," Sam said, seemingly awed. "Dean, it's... it's gotta be God. It _has_ to be. There's no other explanation."

"There are things a lot worse than God out there that have got just as much power," Dean said, because he couldn't allow himself to hope that much.

"Like what?"

"Lucifer. Crowley."

"Lucifer's in the Cage, and Crowley couldn't pull this off."

"He brought Bobby back."

"Death had to hand over Bobby's soul for that to work in the first place, though," Sam argued.

"Maybe it was Death," Dean suggested.

"He never cared before, why start now?"

"He cared enough to help us with the angel trials."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. "Why do you not want to believe that it was God so badly?"

"Because God hasn't done shit for us before, so why the hell would he start now?"

"He hasn't exactly done nothing, Dean. He put us on that plane when Lucifer broke out of the Cage. He brought Cas back three times. He– look, our lives are a disaster, I get that. A never-ending disaster. But things, they have this weird tendency of working out for us, even though we're always David and the rest of the world is _always_ Goliath. We beat Heaven, and Hell, the Leviathan, Crowley, Abaddon, Xaphan... we shouldn't have had a chance against any of them! But we beat them, and we saved the world with pretty much nothing going for us. To me, that says... well, maybe He really is looking out for us."

Dean stared at the phone in his hand, holding it so tightly his knuckles were turning an unhealthy shade of white.

"That's great that you've got yourself some faith, Sammy," Dean said tightly. "But that son of a bitch has taken too much away from us for me to think He's got our backs."

Dean climbed into the Chevelle without another word.

"Dean–"

He slammed the driver's side door.

"Come on," Dean said, looking through the passenger window at Sam, who was bitch-facing him. "Daylight's wasting."

With a heavy sigh, Sam got into the car, and they were on the road again.


	83. Heaven Sent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything starts to get super thematic, and the authoress tries to pretend that she doesn't make death almost as meaningless as the SPN writers do.

Three days later, they reached _the_ church.

The very same church that it had all began at, the dilapidated chapel that no doubt hadn't seen any patronage in decades. Everything was the same as they'd left it, right down to the broken devil's trap and eerily throne-like chair. One of the stained glass windows that Abaddon had broken was still shattered, letting in yellow autumn sunlight.

No one had been there since the night the angels fell.

"I can't believe you're actually doing this."

Cas and Crowley stared at the eight syringes lined up on the broken pew.

"Neither can I," Crowley admitted.

Crowley noticed that there was dried blood on the chair, on the outskirts of the devil's trap. A demon's blood. His blood.

_"You're miles out of your league, Moose."_

The echoes of that night seemed to hang in the air, haunting him. The night that changed everything.

"You need to be absolutely sure of this," Cas told him. "There is no going back... Well, I suppose you could commit suicide and redamn yourself to Hell, but-"

"I get it," Crowley said. "One way ticket." He picked up one of the syringes. "That little chat with God you had. He said it was about choices, yeah? About free will."

"He did."

He handed Cas the syringe. "I'm making my choice."

* * *

Cas sat in the confession booth and craned his head skyward.

"I know we just spoke, but... in order for this ritual to work, I have to confess my sins. I have to be cleansed." Cas clasped his hands in his lap and took a deep breath. "There's a lot I have to say."

* * *

Neither of them really knew what to say on the ride to Neighbor. Sam didn't know about Dean, but his head was a mess. Hope, confusion, relief, fear... he wasn't sure what to feel. Kevin and Linda were back, and that was fantastic, but... just what the hell did it all mean?

Was it God, or something... lower?

Was it a gift, a reward, a sign, or was it just the start of another war, another apocalypse, another monster for them to fight?

"Hey."

Sam glanced over at his brother. Dean's eyes were fixed firmly on the road in front of them, his expression distant and troubled.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," Dean said.

Sam blinked in subdued surprise. "Uh... you're gonna have to be more specific."

"For my whole, you know... self-pity party thing. I know you didn't sign up for it, and I've just been dumping it all on you. It ain't fair, especially when I know you're going through a lot, too. Cas was your friend as much as he was mine, and Crowley..." Dean left the end of the sentence hanging, and Sam was grateful for it.

"It's fine," he told Dean. He didn't really know what else there was to say. Because yeah, it hurt. A hell of a lot. Cas had been one of his closest friends (and one of his only) for years. Things would never quite be the same without him, and seeing Dean without his angel was painful all by itself.

As for Crowley...

Dean thought that the two of them were dealing with the same thing, but they weren't. Not at all. Cas had been taken from Dean, he hadn't left him. Cas would come back if he could, would do anything to get back to Dean.

Crowley chose to leave.

Sam looked out of the window, his jaw clenching tightly. For the umpteenth time in the past few weeks, he thought, _why couldn't he have just stayed?_

If he knew why, maybe he could deal with Crowley being gone, but Crowley hadn't given him an explanation. He hadn't given him _anything_... he'd just left.

He hadn't even said goodbye.

In the end, maybe that was what hurt the most.

* * *

Crowley stared at the crucifix in the church's sanctuary, the nailed hands and feet, absent the rest of Christ.

"Can't believe I'm back here," he muttered to himself. "That I'm volunteering for this." He turned his eyes to the ceiling. "This was Your plan all along though, wasn't it? I was going to have to choose. Can't walk this line forever, I suppose... it's time to pick. Human or demon."

He stripped off his suit jacket and laid it on the back of the almost-throne. "For him, I'll be human."

* * *

"I... maybe I should apologize for rebelling, but I feel as though that would be dishonest. I don't regret what I did. I don't believe it was a sin. I have been called misguided many times, but that one action, that one choice... I was seeing with absolute clarity for the first time in my life. I saw humanity for what it was, what it could be. I really _saw them_ for the first time. I realized they were worth saving. Dean and Sam were worth saving... they will _always_ be worth saving. The two of them, they embody hope. As long as there are Winchesters on Earth, there is hope. Hope is important, I've found."

Cas cleared his throat. He wondered if Crowley was listening in. He hoped that he wasn't.

"I have made mistakes, though... many," he continued. "When I was resurrected after Lucifer and Michael were cast into the Pit... I became arrogant. I let my hubris get the best of me, let the call of power seduce me off of the road of what I knew was right. I allowed myself to be corrupted... I took my second chance and squandered it. I did nothing but create chaos and death, all under the guise of good intentions... and as the saying goes, I found myself in Hell, where that road inevitably leads."

"Not a day passes that I don't regret the Purgatory Pact... the war with Raphael... the Leviathans... I will never be able to truly atone for all I destroyed. This guilt will never leave me, whether this was all providence like You say, or not. I realize where I truly went wrong. I should have had faith... faith in Dean. I never should have lied to him, gone behind his back. I can't believe that he forgave me, but I'm eternally grateful for it."

"Purgatory... I thought that would be the end. I would pay for my sins for eternity... but Naomi had different plans for me. Perhaps it was out of my hands, perhaps she knew how to break an angel far too well for me to ever have a chance of resisting her... but I feel that I could've been stronger. I could've fought."

Cas took a deep breath. "Maybe I... maybe a part of me wanted to give up control. To not be responsible, for once. That weakness cost Samandiriel his life... it almost cost Dean his. And even once I was free of her, I made the same mistake again: I didn't trust him. I didn't believe in him... and then I allowed myself to be fooled by Metatron, and the angels fell. This war, all the angels and humans who have died... it's my fault. All of it."

Cas bent his head. "Divine plan or not, I am so very sorry. But I am human, now. I have paid with my Grace, with my blood, and with my life. This is a new life, for me. I will do right by Earth, by the humans. I _will_ do better." He closed his eyes. "I promise. This time will be different."

* * *

The sun refracted off of the broken pieces of stained glass, painting the walls of the abandoned church in the colors of a rainbow, each one becoming its own tiny prism. Dust was visible as little white specks floating through the air, illuminated by the light of the afternoon. The smell of the place was a cross between must, decay, and mildew. And of course, underneath all of that was a scent only discernible to his hyperactive demon senses: blood.

Crowley's own blood. He'd recognize it anywhere. Not surprising, given his not-so-glorious beating at the hands of Abaddon. He supposed that he'd brought that on himself. He had been the one to call her, after all.

He wondered in the back of his mind if the bite he'd placed on Sam's wrist had left a scar or not. Why had he never noticed? He should've been paying more attention.

Crowley drummed his fingertips on the arm rests of the almost-throne, feeling a phantom sensation of being bound, even though he knew full well that he wasn't. No... he was free. Because now, it was his choice, and his alone. No chains. No devil's trap.

Just choice.

"Crowley?"

He looked up to see Cas standing in the archway that led into the sanctuary. The once-angel looked ruffled, even in the new clothes Crowley had forced him into upon finding out that he hadn't changed outfits since his resurrection. Half as a joke and half for nostalgia's sake, Crowley had procured a series of black suits and blue ties for Cas to wear.

Naturally, Crowley had gotten him a trench coat, but unfortunately, Cas wasn't wearing it at present. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His suit jacket was folded over his left arm. He was sweaty, and his hair was a mess, unsurprisingly. His tie was just the right kind of askew.

He looked perfectly, utterly... human.

Just like Crowley would himself, eight hours from now.

He shivered.

"Are you alright?" Cas questioned, oblivious and perceptive all at once.

"No, but does that really matter?" he asked tiredly.

"It does," Cas insisted. "It's not too late to turn back. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Get on with it, Kitten," Crowley said, dismissing Cas's reservations. Now wasn't the time for second guessing or cold feet. "Fortune favors the brave, bla bla bla. It's show time."

Cas frowned, but he nodded anyway. He went to the broken pew pushed against the wall, carefully picking up the first of the eight syringes that were sitting there. He cautiously laid the tip at the crook of his arm. He took a deep breath and pushed in the syringe.

Cas winced. The vial went from clear to crimson. Crowley gritted his teeth. Cas pulled out the needle and met his eyes.

"Crowley..."

"Just _do it_."

Cas, ever the obedient soldier, did as he was bid. He approached Crowley slowly, like he was waiting for the demon to stop him. Cas reached his side and put the needle to Crowley's neck. He looked hesitant, like there were words poised on his tongue.

"You said this was worth it," Crowley reminded him.

"For me, it was."

"Changing your tune?" he asked.

"No... but I fear when this is over..."

"I'll hate myself?"

Cas's silence was an answer all by itself.

"I already hate myself," Crowley replied bluntly. "How much worse can it get?"

Cas pushed the plunger, looking sympathetic. Crowley barely felt the needle go in. Not in a pain kind of sense, anyway. The heat flooding through his veins... oh, _that_ he felt. And how.

It could've been his drug, in another life.

"How do you feel?" Cas asked gently.

"Bloody brilliant," Crowley lied.

He didn't feel bad, per se... just like something hot and strong was growing in his stomach, and it wanted to burst out of his skin _Alien_ style.

After the first injection, a heavy silence set upon them, tense and uncomfortable. Not the kind he'd grown used to with Cas, the mostly companionable kind of quiet. Cas sat on one of the few remaining pews. Crowley sat on the almost-throne for nearly twenty minutes before remembering that he was completely free to move around, so long as he remained in the church. He got up and began pacing restlessly, wearing a veritable hole in the concrete floor.

"You seem restless," Cas observed.

"Just passing the time. Not like you're offering much in the way of entertainment."

"In a situation such as this, I don't know what to say."

"Makes two of us."

Step, step, step, step, turn. Repeat.

"Are you afraid?" Cas inquired, head tilted to the side.

"Of what?" Crowley asked shortly.

"Being human."

Crowley didn't know how to answer that.

"Funny thing, isn't it. Fear. Not something I really felt until recently," he responded vaguely.

"Humans feel a wide variety of emotions," Cas agreed. "Some pleasant, others..."

"Others are Hell."

"Yes. Especially fear. Fear... regret..."

"Longing."

Cas blinked. "That too, yes."

They both knew what that felt like. Wasn't it just so fitting? The angel who rebelled from Heaven falling for the Righteous Man, and the demon who rebelled from Hell falling for the Boy King of Hell, Lucifer's vessel himself. Theirs was a story fraught with contradictions and irony, yet in the end, it all seemed so perfectly laid out, dominoes in a careful line.

And he was about to tip them all over.

_Or maybe this is exactly how they're supposed to fall._

* * *

They were silent for a long time after that. Cas was the one who eventually broke the quiet.

"What does it feel like?" he asked.

Crowley turned and darted his eyes up to meet Castiel's. "What does _what_ feel like?"

"The cure. When I became human, it was in the blink of an eye. What you're doing, it's more of a slow transformation. I imagine it must be very daunting."

Crowley snorted. "That's one way to put it."

He was standing in front of the broken window. A few stray glass fragments clung to the worn wooden frame. Idly, he flicked them out. They landed on the grass, glimmering diamonds in the green.

"How would _you_ put it?"

"I suppose you could say it's like a fever," Crowley said. "Starts out a little sweaty... then a few hours later, you're on fire."

"Does it hurt?"

Such an innocent question, but Crowley had to pinch his eyes shut as the recollections of his botched cure threatened to overwhelm him.

"Not in the way you're thinking," he muttered.

Cas stared down at his hands. "Was it the guilt?"

"Catching on, eh?"

"I... it must have been very difficult for you."

Crowley let out a mirthless laugh. "Mate, you have no idea." He turned away from the window. Absent his suit jacket, he slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Actually, you might... I'm not the only one who's bathed in a few seas of blood, now am I?"

He almost felt bad bringing it up, after he saw the look on Cas's face.

"We're more alike than I originally thought," Cas admitted.

"We've always been two sides of the same coin," Crowley replied. "You were just too racist to see it before." He gave Cas a flicker of a smile. The once-angel returned it.

"I suppose I was... you have my sincerest apologies."

"Sincerely accepted, Kitten." Crowley took out his phone and checked the time. "Best break out syringe number two."

Cas obediently went to the pew and scooped up the next needle. Crowley hovered by Cas's side while he stabbed the syringe into the crook of his arm and withdrew the next dose. Cas turned to him, holding it up. Crowley brushed the pad of his thumb over the bleeding wound in Cas's arm, healing it

"Thank you," Cas said, brows drawing together. "You're being very nice today."

"I'm always nice," Crowley defended.

"Will you be offended if I say that you're not?"

"Yes. Now shut up and shoot me up with your blood."

Cas frowned. "We have a very odd friendship."

"Did you just call us friends, Cas? I may cry," Crowley said as Cas lined the syringe up with his neck. "Go on, then."

The needle pushed in, and he inhaled sharply. The heat that had already been coursing through him doubled. It was like ice melting in his chest, and the excess was running through his vessel... flooding it...

Cas pulled out the syringe, and then put a steadying hand on Crowley's shoulder. "You look ill," he observed. Crowley opened his mouth to respond, but Cas cut him off. "Do not tell me you're fine again."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Would you like to hold hands and talk about our feelings instead?"

Cas went silent, narrowing his eyes at Crowley.

"What?" Crowley asked.

"You really are very much like Dean."

Crowley was inclined to disagree, but wasn't in the mood to argue with the ex-angel about it. "Guess I picked the wrong Winchester."

"No, that's the issue, I think. You and Dean are too much alike. Perhaps that is why you've had problems getting along."

"Well, the whole 'King of Hell' thing doesn't help either, I'm sure. Me, trying to kill everyone he ever saved... letting you two get locked in Purgatory for a year and kidnapping Kevin, then subsequently killing Kevin's girlfriend and mother... and that's just the past few years."

"It's best not to focus on the past. Especially in your case."

"Sage advice. No, I'm focusing on the future. Hopefully, it'll turn out a little less bloody."

Cas gave Crowley a tight smile. "It wouldn't be us without a little blood."

* * *

Their reunion with Kevin was more emotional than Dean wanted it to be, but it was hard to keep his composure when the kid just walked up to him, no condemnation in his eyes, no anger, no _"you could have saved me"_ , and hugged him. Hugged him tight, too. And not like a kid, as he so often forgot Kevin no longer was, but like a man. Dean wanted to say something, but he was choked up, his voice sticking in his throat but never breaking free.

Kevin released him and moved on to Sam. Linda stood a few feet away, arms crossed, glaring at them.

Dean hugged her, too. So did Sam.

They went inside. Linda put tea on the kettle, and Kevin showed them the sticky note that he'd found on his chest, the one with Dean's new number scrawled on it in less-than-neat handwriting.

"Does this look familiar to you?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Dean frowned. "Yeah, but I can't put my finger on it..." He found himself doing a mental inventory of all the handwriting he was familiar with. Cas's was blocky and forcibly neat. Crowley's was alternatively either a slanting, messy print or a looping, perfect cursive. It wasn't Bobby's, Sam's, certainly not his own...

He looked up sharply at Sam.

"What?" Sam asked, seeing the urgency in his eyes.

"Sammy," he said. "It's _Chuck's handwriting_."

* * *

Bobby's neck hurt.

Other than that, he was comfortable. Warm. Sleepy, but not exhausted. His head was resting against something... paper? Huh. He must've fallen asleep reading again. Not wholly unusual for him. He smelled whiskey, so he probably had a bit too much and had passed out before he managed to get to the couch, or his bed.

For almost two minutes, Bobby didn't question the fact that it felt like he was at home, in his house in Sioux Falls, and everything was normal.

Then he remembered that his house had been burned to the ground, he'd been shot in the head, then he'd become a ghost, then he went to Hell for awhile, then he went to Heaven, then got brought back to life, then had his next home blown to smithereens, and then finally rounded all that up by getting killed by the so-called Queen of Hell.

Bobby's eyes snapped open, his head jerked up, and god _damnit_ , his neck had one hell of a crick in it. His cheek peeled away from the page of a book. He glanced down at it, not recognizing it. He flipped it shut, eyeing the cover. _The Question of God._

"The hell...?"

Things only got more confusing when he finally took in his surroundings, only to see that he really was back home in Sioux Falls. His study looked just like it had before he left to pick up Jody from Sioux Falls General, the day that the Leviathans had burned the place to the ground. Leaning towers of books, the switch board, a half-drained glass of rotgut by his hand. Everything was dusty, and crappy, and there were termites in the walls and _shit,_ he could even see the Sam-shaped imprint in the couch.

Home sweet shitty home.

He could've cried, if he wasn't so damn confused. Was he in Heaven?

"One way to find out," he muttered, rising to his feet. He knew one angel who would answer his prayers, and hopefully his questions... "Claire? Kiddo? You still around?"

He waited. One, two, three, four...

"You're supposed to be dead."

Bobby turned. Claire stood there, staring at him with wide eyes that held a disconcerting similarity Cas's.

"Yeah, well, I ain't," he replied. "And I was wondering if you knew anything about that."

* * *

"Time for number three already?"

"It is."

"Get on with it, then. Time waits for no man... or demon."

* * *

"But Chuck's dead, isn't he?" Kevin asked as Dean tried to subtly pour out his tea into Linda's ficus. "There can't be two prophets at once."

"That's what's got me fried," Dean said. "How the hell can Chuck still be around if you're alive? You should've never been picked if he was still kicking."

"Maybe we're imagining it," Sam reasoned. "Maybe it just _looks_ like his handwriting."

"I'm not imagining it," Dean said. "You saw Chuck's house. Place was a mess of notes and drafts and shit. We've both seen enough of his writing to know it when we see it."

"So, what does this mean?" Linda asked. "Do we need to find this Chuck person?"

"I wouldn't even know where to look," Sam admitted. "I mean, I guess we could go to Chuck's house, but that seems a little too easy."

"And nothing is ever easy with you two," Linda said with a sour expression. "It's the best place to start. When do we leave?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. "Uh, Mrs. Tran..." Dean began.

"I know Kevin will want to go with you," she cut across them. "And evidently I can't trust you to watch out for him, so I'll have to come along as well."

"Mom," Kevin said, turning towards his mother. _"No."_

"Kevin–"

"This got you killed last time," he reminded her. " _I_ got you killed. And you can blame Sam and Dean all you want, but it's not their fault that I died. I'll be okay. Just stay here and stay safe, okay? Before we leave, we'll ward the house, put in salt lines... we'll protect it. And I'll come back soon, I promise."

Dean was shocked that after everything, Kevin still wanted to help them. Still wanted to be part of the team. He didn't know whether the prophet was brave, or completely suicidal.

"Kev," Dean put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. "This is your way out, man. This is a new start. Do you really want to jump straight back into this? This doesn't have to be what you do anymore. This can be what you _did_. There aren't any tablets left."

Kevin stared at him. "You think I can just walk away?"

"Well... yeah."

"Knowing what's out there... there's no way that I can," Kevin replied. "I mean, maybe now that things have settled down, I can try to balance a normal life, too... but I'm not out of the game. And– my mom and I just got resurrected from the freaking dead, guys. I want answers as much as you do. Probably more."

Dean looked to Sam, making sure that his younger sibling was alright with Kevin tagging along. Sam gave him a subtle nod, and Dean sighed. "We won't stop you, but I swear to God, if you get your ass killed again–"

"I won't," Kevin said, almost smiling.

"Kevin, I still haven't given you permission to do this."

He turned back to his mother. "Mom, I'm almost twenty years old. Technically I don't need your permission."

Linda just looked at him.

"Can I please go, Mom?"

She let out a long exhale. " _Only_ if you check in every night and swear to me that you'll come back here in one piece," she instructed.

Kevin nodded. "I swear." He hugged his mother. "I'll be back soon."

"That's what you said last time," she muttered into his shoulder.

He didn't respond.

"You're alive, too!?"

Everyone in the room jumped at the sounding of a voice behind them. They all turned as one to face the newcomer.

Claire stood by the tea-sodden ficus, staring at Kevin like he'd just grown a second head.

"Who is she?" Linda demanded.

"She's a... friend," Kevin said. "She's an angel. Sort of."

"How long have you been back?" Claire asked him.

Kevin checked his watch. "Not very long."

"Wait, you said 'you're alive, too'," Dean said. "Did someone else get brought back?"

"Uh, _yeah_."

Claire vanished and was gone for less than ten seconds before she returned with someone else in tow.

_"Bobby."_

* * *

That day seemed to be a flurry of hugs and almost-crying.

After they'd settled down, filled Bobby in on all that had happened since his death, and at least started to come to terms with the fact that not only were Kevin and Linda alive, but Bobby, too, the confusion started right back up.

"Just who the hell is doing this?" Bobby voiced what they were all thinking.

"None of us have a damn clue, except..." Dean lifted up the sticky note that had been on Kevin's chest. "This handwriting? It's Chuck's."

"Chuck as in _Supernatural_ Chuck?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "The same Chuck who should be dead."

"Maybe he got popped back to life like the rest of us," Bobby theorized.

"If Chuck is back, why didn't he find us? Why's he leavin' us love notes instead?" He brandished the note. "It doesn't make any sense."

"We should find out if anyone else was resurrected," Kevin proposed. "If the three of us are all alive... do you think maybe Cas is, too?"

Dean's hands involuntarily clenched into fists. He wanted to let himself hope that Kevin was right, but if he let himself think that maybe, just maybe, Cas was back and breathing, only to find out that he wasn't... it would be like losing him all over again.

"I'm not getting my hopes up," Dean said dully. "Look, Chuck is the only lead we got, so I say that's still our next stop. Claire, do you think you can–"

He looked to where Claire had been standing.

She was gone.

* * *

Of all the places Claire expected to end up when she was snatched out of Kevin's house by an invisible hand, a candy shop was not one of them.

She found herself surrounded by garish shades of orange, red, and pink. She backed up, the base of her spine colliding with a jelly bean dispenser. Outside, traffic buzzed by. She didn't recognize the city.

"Where the hell am I?"

"Little higher than Hell, sweetheart."

Claire's attention snapped to the checkout counter. A man sat there, swinging his legs and nibbling on a piece of sponge candy. His amber eyes held a spark of mischief, and after a moment, Claire recognized him from what she'd seen on Charlie's drone feeds back in Jerusalem.

"You're Gabriel," Claire said. "Does _anyone_ stay dead, anymore?"

"I understand the confusion," Gabriel replied. "After all, you saw me go down in a heroic blaze of glory. And yet, here I am, alive and well."

Claire blinked. "Are you gonna monologue, or just tell me what your deal is?"

Gabriel seemed amused at her shortness. "Not really one for dramatics, are we? You really are Cas's kid. Fine. I'll keep this short, sweet–" He popped the remainder of the candy into his mouth. "–and to the point." He swallowed, then smirked. "Just like me."

Claire crossed her arms impatiently. "Anytime, now."

Gabriel hopped off the counter and approached her. "Now that the war's over, a new world order's being put in place. The Big Guy Upstairs knows that if things keep going the same as before, we're just going to have another apocalypse on our hands, sooner or later. Probably sooner."

"Are you saying you're on orders from God?" Claire questioned, finding herself hard-pressed to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Gabriel grinned at her. "Dad's orders in regards to _you_ are very specific. I'm supposed to give you a choice."

"Okay..." Most of the 'choices' she'd been given in her life weren't really choices at all, so she wasn't sure she was going to like whatever Gabriel was about to say.

"It's pretty simple, really. By midnight tonight, every angel is gonna be locked in Heaven. As of right now, you're on the invite list to the divine family meeting. It's up to you whether you RSVP or not."

"It's not like I can just de-angel myself," Claire responded, a tight knot of fear forming in her gut. Trapped in Heaven with the angels for the rest of eternity... somewhat ironically, she couldn't think of many fates worse than that. Of course, just when she thought her life might possibly, _maybe_ go back to normal, she ended up in a candy shop with the last archangel in existence, telling her that she was going to be stuck on angel duty permanently.

"Enough with the negative waves, Moriarty," Gabriel told her. At the murderous expression on her face, Gabriel rolled her eyes. "Relax. I can't hear your thoughts. Well, I _can,_ but I didn't. You're just easy to read. I said you had a choice, remember? Paper or plastic, baby."

"What's my choice, then?" Claire asked, frustrated.

Gabriel spread out his arms on either side of him. "You may not be able to 'de-angel' yourself, but _I_ can. So: angel, or human? Up to you, kid."

She should've been relieved. She had a way out... but all she could think was, _it can't be this easy._

"You expect me to believe that you'll just snap your fingers, and I'll be human again?" Claire asked, glaring at the archangel.

"Not really. You don't have any reason to trust me, or any of the angels, for that matter. Heaven's pretty much done nothing but screw you over since the day you were born. Still, doesn't change the fact that right now, in this moment, I am telling you – heh – _God's_ honest truth."

Gabriel approached her. She tensed up. She drew her angel blade without even really making the conscious decision to do so. Gabriel halted in his tracks and gave her a look of mock hurt.

"Really? I sacrifice myself to save this puny little planet when I could've just fucked off to the other side of the universe, and you don't trust me not to hurt you? Claire, I thought what we had was _special_." He gestured at her angel blade. "Plus, that thing's not going to do anything to me, anyway. Archangel, remember?"

"I don't want you touching me."

"I don't have to touch you to make you human again."

Claire said nothing, just held out her angel blade in front of her. She didn't trust him, sacrifice or not. He was an angel, and she'd learned long ago that angels were not to be trusted, no matter what they offered.

Gabriel let out an irritated sigh, lifting his hands. "Fine, whatever. A quick look in your heart tells me what you want, anyway – midnight tonight, you'll turn back into a pumpkin. Or however that goes. So congratulations, you've got a way out. Now if you'll excuse me..." He checked his watch. "I've got a few more stops to make." His amber eyes flicked up to meet hers. "And one more thing, Claire-bear... you might want to take a little field trip to the Men of Letters bunker." He winked at her. "Might be surprised at what you find there."


	84. Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which innocent Bentleys are harmed, and the boys try to feel some feels.

"You're bleeding."

Crowley was shaken out of a flurry of thoughts by Cas, who was watching him with a furrowed, worried brow. Crowley opened his hands, looking down at them. Deep, bloody furrows were present in the deep-lined skin of his palms. He'd been clenching them harder than he thought, apparently.

He closed his hands. When he opened them, they were healed.

"Another thing I won't be able to do for much longer," he muttered to himself.

"You could learn curative magic," Cas suggested. "You seem to be gifted with witchcraft, at least to some degree."

"I had a good teacher," he said quietly. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He could feel it, feel the blood seeping into him. It was like quick mud, pulling him in, trapping him. He was suddenly claustrophobic, captured by an insatiable urge to smoke out of his body and flee, to feel the freedom of his ethereal form.

He crushed the desire almost as quickly as it came. He'd made his decision. True, he still had the option to turn back, but he wasn't going to take it. It was time to choose a side, and he had chosen his.

Crowley cleared his throat, trying to regain some of his usual composure. "Something we should think about," Crowley said. "How are we planning to find Frick and Frack once this is all said and done?"

Cas scratched the back of his head. "Somewhat embarrassingly, I overlooked a very simple way to find Sam and Dean."

"Oh?"

"We could just pray to Claire."

"Ah, yes. The littlest Novak is still a tree topper. More's the pity." He crossed his legs, drumming his fingertips on his knee. "Simple, then. After the big finale, we'll give her a call... so long as she knows where those two have gotten off to. They're still hidden from angels."

"That reminds me. I'll have to have my anti-possession and angel warding tattoos redone. When I was brought back, my skin was entirely new. Not a single scar or blemish," Cas shared.

"God didn't just put you back, he updated you. Must be nice to have a father who repeatedly brings you back to life."

"He's not great at showing affection, but His methods speak for themselves."

"Whatever you say, Kitten."

Cas was silent for a long time before he spoke again.

"Did you know... some human religions, they believe in resurrection? You die thousands of times, as thousands of different people, and in each lifetime, you learn a different lesson. I think, maybe, that is what happened to me. Each time I'm resurrected, I learn something new, a lesson that can only be taught through suffering, through... experience."

Cas's eyes grew distant.

"First, I learned what I was fighting for. Then, I learned how to _stand up_ for what I was fighting for. And when the Leviathan took me, I learned that the greater good is not always the greatest good, that the ends do not always justify the means. And this time, I learned..." He craned his neck, looking at the ceiling.

"The slotted spoon _can_ catch the potato?" Crowley offered.

Cas blinked. "What?"

Holding back a barb that would've likely been along the lines of 'uncultured swine', Crowley instead said, "Never mind. Continue with your impassioned speech."

Cas frowned, but continued: "I learned that only one thing defines who you are, and that is the choices that you make. Not your species. Good and evil, they are not nearly as clearly defined and simple as I thought. I am evil. I am good. I think, in the end, maybe that could be said of all of us. Humans, demons, and angels. Demons can feel love. Angels can be evil. Humans can save the world." He smiled a small, sad little smile. "To think that I used to look at humans like they were just sheep. They're so much more. They're amazing, really."

Crowley watched Castiel, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Careful. You're starting to sound old."

Cas huffed out a soft laugh. "I _am_ old, Crowley. We are both very old, and very tired."

"Luckily I'm young at heart," Crowley said sarcastically, once again examining the lines of his palms. "If I'm counting right, you should be loading up syringe number four."

"I am on it."

He was becoming hyper-aware of the passage of time, now. Thirty seven seconds later, Cas stuck the needle's tip into Crowley's neck.

Under his breath, Crowley sang, _"Whoa-oh, we're half way there... whoa-oh, living on a prayer..."_

* * *

Claire hadn't given them much in the way of an explanation when she returned a half an hour after her sudden disappearance. Instead, she launched out both of her hands, grabbed Sam and Dean by their wrists, and teleported them away from Neighbor without so much a word of warning. Dean felt the familiar unpleasant vertigo and nausea that came with riding the angel train, and then in a blink, he was standing on solid ground again.

"Claire, what the hell–"

He froze.

Looked around.

"This can't be real," Sam whispered, awed.

They were in the Men of Letters bunker. The completely intact, not burned down, good as new Men of Letters bunker. Their home, and it was standing again, just as they had left it before Lailah's explosive seals turned the place into a burnt out concrete shell.

_"This can't be real!"_ Sam repeated. "It's like nothing ever happened!"

Dean turned to Claire, some emotion in his eyes that Sam couldn't label– shock? Disbelief? Joy? Maybe all three.

"How did you know?" Dean asked Claire.

"You know that archangel, Gabriel?"

"Yeah..." Sam and Dean chorused.

"He told me to look here. That's why I vanished all of a sudden– he wanted to talk."

Dean turned to Sam. Their gazes locked, a stunned current running between the two of them. Gabriel had been brought back, too?

"I watched him die," Dean said slowly. "I _killed_ him."

"When I talked to him five minutes ago, he was alive," Claire told him.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, mouth hanging open slightly. "Gabe... was he the one who brought back the others?" Dean pressed.

"According to him, no," Claire answered. "He... well, he made it sound like God did all of this."

Dean's jaw tensed, and he looked away. "Seems to be a popular theory," he said, voice sounding hoarse. Dean paced over to the railing of the second floor landing. He wrapped his hands around it tightly and stared down into the foyer, eyes tracing over every object, as if looking for imperfections, looking for something wrong.

"It's actually back," Sam said, joining his brother. Unable to help himself, Sam laughed. "The bunker, Kevin, his mom, Bobby... Dean, this is amazing!"

Dean didn't look nearly as happy as their present situation warranted. "Since when have we ever had good luck?" Dean muttered before abruptly bolting down the stairs.

Sam glanced at Claire. The new angel shrugged. They followed after Dean, who began to methodically check every room they usually frequented in the bunker's halls. Looking for... well, Sam had no idea what Dean was looking for. Some sign that it wasn't real? Or the catch that tended to come with anything good that happened to them?

"Dean–" he tried, but Dean wouldn't hear it.

"It's _never_ that easy, Sam. Not for us."

They tailed Dean into his own room, then Sam's, then Kevin's, Charlie's, Bobby's, Cas's, and Crowley's. The last two looked as though they'd barely been used. Crowley's, he understood, but Cas had lived in the bunker with them for months, yet it looked like he'd barely stepped foot in his room.

Dean didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss. _Does he know something I don't?_

Through the kitchen, into the library. Dean's eyes were almost fevered in their intensity. He didn't stop moving until they reached the strategy room.

There was one shining light on the world map. The three of them approached the table, all attention on the glowing red beacon.

"That's in Pennsylvania," Claire said, thin brows furrowed. "What's so special about that one spot?"

Dean shook his head. "Search me."

"Wait a minute," Sam said, stepping forward. He trailed his finger along the edge of northwestern Pennsylvania. "This is on Lake Erie." He lifted his eyes to meet Dean's. "The church."

He could see understanding dawn on his brother's expression, replacing confusion. "The one where you tried to cure Crowley."

Sam gulped. The fact that the map showed the dilapidated chapel... it had greater meaning, he was sure of it. But what kind of message was being sent? He didn't get it.

"So... what? Is this–" Dean gestured around them. "–Some kind of love letter from Crowley?"

It was what Sam wanted to believe, but he knew that even at his strongest, Crowley couldn't pull something that big off. All the resurrections... returning the bunker to the exact state it had been in before everything went south... it was beyond the scope of the power of even the King of Hell.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "But I think this means we need to go to Erie."

"I'm guessing that means you want an angel taxi?" Claire asked.

Sam shot her an apologetic look. "If you don't mind."

"Hold up," Dean said. He took a step closer to Claire. "What else did Gabriel say to you? Guy loves the sound of his own voice. It couldn't have just been, 'God brought me back, go to the bunker'."

"He really didn't say that much," Claire responded. "He told me that he was on orders from God, that all of the angels were getting locked in Heaven, and that he could make me human again, if I wanted."

"Just like that? No terms and conditions? Just... poof, and you're human?" Dean said dubiously.

"That's what he said. I told him I didn't believe him, but then he told me some bull about how he looked in my heart and saw what I wanted, so by midnight tonight, apparently I'm going to go back to being human."

"I wouldn't buy that, if I were you," Dean warned her.

"I don't. I know better than to trust angels."

Sam sank down into one of the chairs around the strategy room table. "You mentioned that Gabriel said the angels were getting locked back in Heaven," he began. "Does he mean permanently? Like, Gates closed with the angels inside?"

"That's what it sounded like."

Dean crossed his arms. "That's what Cas wanted to do, remember? When he was working with Metatron... he wanted to lock 'em all inside, have one big eternity long family meeting to get everything back in order."

"If he wanted to trap them all inside Heaven, I think he kind of missed the mark," Claire commented.

"No kidding," Dean mumbled. He dragged Sam out of his chair. "Come on. Let's go check this out."

Claire put a hand on each of their shoulders, and they were gone.

* * *

"What do you think Sam will say, when he sees what you've done?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea. I suppose the fun will be in finding out."

* * *

A second later, they were standing in front of the church. It looked just as it had when they'd come there for the first time that spring; it was a stark contrast against the otherwise beautiful scenery. A black mass with its spire piercing the blue sky, dark and foreboding amidst the clear waters of the lake and the green, orange, and yellow of the trees that surrounded it.

A car was parked out front. An old Bentley, a '26, gleaming black and flawless. Dean whistled appreciatively.

"That's Crowley's, isn't it?" Dean asked.

Sam's eyes were locked on it. His little brother's body was drawn tight and still. He didn't even want to guess at what was going through Sam's mind, in that moment. "Yeah," he said softly. "How'd you know?"

"Saw it sitting in the parking lot of his mansion after the whole Purgatory blow-up." Dean flicked his eyes to Claire. "Kid, you mind zapping over to Neighbor, making sure everyone's okay? Until we figure all this out–"

"Yeah, yeah, protect and serve. Whatever."

Claire vanished.

Dean grinned at Sam. "He's here, Sammy," he said. "Bet he's waiting for you, too."

"He couldn't have done all of this," Sam reminded Dean. "He's not that strong."

"Well, how about we go and ask him ourselves?" Dean clapped him on the back and guided him towards the door.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait to speak with the King."

Dean and Sam froze. They knew that voice.

"I have some unfinished business with him that needs to be addressed."

The two of them turned as one.

On the opposite side of the parking lot stood Anthriel.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Dean said. "Now? After everything? He helped you save the damn planet!"

"He saved _himself_ ," she hissed. "He wanted his kingdom back, nothing more, and nothing less."

"You're wrong," Sam insisted.

"No. I'm right. In just a few short hours, the Gates of Heaven are being sealed shut. Souls may enter, but no angels may leave, apart from the Reapers. This is my last opportunity to rid the world of Crowley, once and for all," Anthriel said. "I warned you, Dean Winchester. I told you I would kill him myself. Unlike you, I don't go back on my word."

"You crazy b–" Dean broke off abruptly, holding up his hands. "You know what? I'm just– just _so_ not in the mood for this, today." He drew Gabriel's archangel blade from where it was sheathed at his side. He'd held onto it after the battle in Jerusalem, and he was glad that he did. "I told you what was gonna happen if you went after Crowley."

Sam pulled out his angel blade as well, straightening his shoulders and standing tall. Given Sam's not unimpressive height, that was pretty damn tall.

"We'll give you one chance to leave," his brother said, his voice low and dangerous. "Take it, or don't."

Anthriel's own weapon appeared in her hand. "A generous offer. I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

* * *

Crowley lifted his head.

"Do you feel that?"

Cas shot him a confused look.

"Right. Human. Of course you don't." Crowley rose from the almost-throne. "Angel stink... it's coming from close by. Very close."

"Perhaps... one of my brothers or sisters wishes to thank you for your help in Jerusalem?" Cas asked, and by his tone, Crowley could tell that the former angel knew how ridiculous his words sounded.

"What say we have a little look-see, hmm?"

"Crowley, wait." Cas grabbed his wrist, stopping him from leaving the sanctuary. "In order for the cure to succeed, you need to remain on hallowed ground throughout the entirety of it. If you leave now, we'll have to start all over again– and I'm not even sure if a cure will still work, on the third attempt."

Crowley sighed irritably. "Fine, then you go and look. But take this." His angel gun dropped out of his sleeve and into his hand. He passed it over to Cas, who grimaced down at it. "Just be grateful that this time, it's in your hands, and not mine," Crowley added, remembering with a stab of guilt that it was the very same weapon he'd shot Cas in the gut with, half a year ago.

"I'll be back soon," Cas promised. "Do not leave."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He sank back down into his chair. "Get into any real trouble, just lure our mysterious stranger back in here. I'm not human just yet." He gave Cas what he hoped was more of a sinister smile than a strained one. "I'll make short work of them."

Cas merely nodded, heading out the door and leaving Crowley alone.

Crowley counted the seconds that passed.

When they reached fifty-four, a hole was blown in the side of the church.

* * *

Several things happened in very quick succession.

Anthriel launched at Dean, but Sam intercepted her and tackled her down to the ground. She pummeled him in the face until he couldn't see through his own blood. Dean dragged her up by the hair and put the archangel blade to her throat, prepared to finish her, but she blew him away, sending him crashing into the side of Crowley's car. He left a sizable dent in his wake. He thought he heard plaintive meowing, but he was pretty sure he'd imagined it.

Anthriel dragged Sam up by his collar, putting her blade to his chin. "Stand aside," she ordered, ice blue eyes fixed on Dean. "Or Crowley won't be the only Hell-spawn that dies tonight."

"Anthriel!"

Dean's heart stopped. Slowly, he turned his head, his focus solely on the door to the church...

...and damn him if Cas wasn't standing there, dressed in that fucking trench coat and looking just like he did the day he'd dragged Dean's ass out of the Pit and burned his handprint into his shoulder.

Dean smiled, even though his ears were ringing and he was pretty sure he had a concussion, because Cas was there. There, breathing, _alive_.

"Cas," Sam coughed out, words muffled by what was probably a broken jaw.

He held a gun in his hands – Crowley's angel gun, he quickly determined. Cas pointed it straight at Anthriel.

"Release him."

"Castiel," she said, seemingly floored by his presence. "How can this be?"

"There is a human saying," he said, making his way down the steps, not taking his aim off of Anthriel for a second. "They say that cats have nine lives." He flicked the safety off on the gun. "I'm beginning to think that the nickname 'Kitten' is more fitting than I originally thought it was."

He fired.

It would've been very dramatic and fitting, if she'd gone down just like that, dead on the ground, easy as pie.

Of course, just as Dean had said earlier, they didn't tend to be that lucky.

Anthriel lifted a hand. The bullet stopped in mid-air, then fell to the ground. Cas seemed troubled by the turn of events.

"When will our Father learn to stop giving you second chances?" she growled. With her eyes still locked on Cas, she punched Sam so hard in the face that it knocked him out cold.

And then, in a heartbeat, she was gone and out of sight.

Dean barely had time to stand before the female angel reappeared behind Cas. He narrowly ducked a swing from her angel blade. He turned around, sweeping her feet out from underneath her. She hit the ground with a hard thump. Dean raced towards them, hoping to get her out of the way–

She flicked her wrist. Cas was blasted through two walls. Plaster and wood were cut like a knife through butter.

Anthriel rose to her feet, making to head through the hole she'd created in the church wall to pursue Cas. Before she could, Dean made a run at her. He punched her hard in the side of the head. He felt his knuckles break, but it was enough to send her reeling.

"You do _not_ get to kill Cas five seconds after I figure out he's not actually dead," he growled at her.

Anthriel lunged at him. Dean pulled back enough to avoid getting skewered through the middle, but the angel blade did bury itself in his shoulder. He screamed as the power of the divine blade ripped through him, sending electric shocks through his whole body.

"How about ten seconds?" she hissed out.

* * *

Crowley considered Cas's prone form on the ground at his feet.

"Not a girl scout, I take it?"

Cas coughed, a plume of plaster coming out of his mouth. He was caked in the stuff, along with a good bit of insulation and sawdust. It was a miracle he was still breathing, after being punched through a wall like that. He managed to get to his knees.

"Anthriel," he managed.

"Ah. I should've expected that."

"Also," Cas coughed again. "The Winchesters are here." He met Crowley's eyes. "Sam is in danger."

With a thought, Crowley's angel gun was back in his hand. "You don't say," he patted Cas on the back. "Take a breather, Kitten. As the kids say these days... I got this."

He stepped over Cas and walked out of the sanctuary.

* * *

Dean shoved Anthriel into the church proper, throwing her down with little grace into the mess that was left of the church's front wall. He felt a nail dig into his knee, a series of splinters embedded their way into his arms. Through fevered thoughts of tetanus shots and lockjaw, Dean took the hilt of his angel blade and bashed it into Anthriel's face.

Much to his dismay, she was able to overpower him easily, and she flipped them over. His wounded shoulder collided hard with the ground, and he wasn't able to hold back his brief scream of agony.

She put her hand to his throat, pressing, pressing, pressing. Dean tried to struggle, but she was too strong. _Damn angels..._

"Not so powerful without the angel trials in your veins, are you?" she hissed. "You may have helped restore Heaven, but it is because of you that it was destroyed in the first place. The corruption of one angel was all it took. Your touch is poisonous. If my last act on this planet is to snuff you out of existence, then I will return home with a smile on my face."

"Unfortunately for you, my darling, you won't be returning home at all."

_BANG._

A red spot appeared between Anthriel's eyes. Dean managed to draw in one shocked breath before he was blinded by intense blue-white light. He shielded his face with his good arm. When the light faded, Anthriel's corpse collapsed to the side.

The outline of two destroyed wings were burned into the wooden floor of the church's entrance hall. Anthriel's eyes stared into nothingness.

Crowley stood over Dean, seeming put out by the blood now staining his shoes.

"And here I thought I would be playing white knight, getting to rush in and save Moose from the icy clutches of death," the demon mused. "What a let down."

Dean glared up at Crowley. "Dick."

Crowley offered Dean his hand. "Moron." Dean took it, and Crowley pulled him back to his feet. He tapped Dean on the nose, healing him with a push of energy. Dean closed his eyes, breathing out a relieved sigh as his injuries disappeared.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm still pissed at you."

"I save your life and heal you, and you're mad at _me?_ That's just ungrateful."

"You walked out on us," Dean told him bluntly.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that exactly what you wanted me to do, when all was said and done?" Crowley challenged. His demeanor was the same as it usually was, the consummate businessman, oozing confidence and bravado, but Dean could see the hollowness in his eyes, the pale, drawn look to his skin, the sweat beading on his brow.

"Yeah, well. Maybe I was wrong." Dean motioned with his hand. "You look like hell."

"Oh, and you're such a prize yourself."

He noticed a series of marks on Crowley's neck. "You want to tell me what that's all about?"

Crowley's hand covered the four track marks before Dean could get a better look at them. "You came at a bad time," Crowley said vaguely. "Where is your moose, anyway?"

"Can't you feel him?" Dean asked. "He's right outside." He nudged Anthriel's corpse with his toe. "Bitch knocked him out."

Crowley seemed surprised. "No, I..." Distractedly, he brushed past Dean, making to head outside, but he was forced to stop at the gaping hole in the wall. He stared at Sam's motionless body.

Crowley snapped his fingers. Sam appeared just inside the sanctuary door. Crowley went to him, determined, and sank down next to him. He placed a careful hand on Sam's steadily bruising jaw. Anthriel had really done a number on him; his face was coated entirely with dried blood.

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he sucked in a harsh breath. His injuries were gone in an instant. "What–"

The hunter froze when he saw Crowley, who's hand was still resting on Sam's cheek.

Crowley's face was impassive. "Always getting yourself into trouble, aren't you?" he said softly. Crowley's eyes flicked to Dean. "Cas is in the sanctuary. I expect you'd like to have your tearful reunion now, yeah?"

He wasn't wrong. Dean gave the two of them a respectful nod and made for the sanctuary, only one thing on his mind.

He had a hell of a lot of things he needed to say to Cas.

...a _hell_ of a lot.

* * *

Sam was half-convinced it was a dream.

"You didn't say bye," was the first thing Sam was able to choke out.

Crowley sighed, dropping his hand from Sam's face. The demon helped him to sit up. He felt fine, now that he was healed. He was able to get to his feet without assistance. Crowley watched him, dark green eyes inscrutable in the fading sunlight. Sam looked around. They were in the church's entrance hall, and a large majority of it was destroyed. He took a step forward. His boots hit something soft.

He glanced down. Anthriel's corpse stared back at him. There was a bullet hole in her head. Crowley appeared on her other side, holding up the gun.

"Not out of practice quite yet," Crowley said with a ghost of a smirk. He pocketed the Luger. "Do you ever just wish that the bloody cloud hoppers would sit around and play their harps and leave the rest of us well enough alone?"

"Every day," Sam answered. He didn't like how nonchalant Crowley was coming off as... there was so much they needed to say, he didn't know where to start. "Your vessel... it looks a lot like your old one. It's his son, right?"

Crowley nodded. "James here's a spitting image of his father."

"Lucky."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence fell on them. Sam was desperate to try to glean some kind of emotion from Crowley, to find out what he was thinking. He reached for their connection, but... he couldn't feel it. Or rather, there was a presence there, but it was dim, barely able to be felt at all. Alarmed, he looked at Crowley.

"I can't feel it," Sam said.

"Feel what?"

"You. In my head. Not really. It's just... it's like a tickle. No thoughts, no feelings. And it's not because you've got your walls up, because that feels different."

Crowley shuffled uncomfortably, turning away from Sam. "Ah– well, you see..." Crowley paused for a long moment, then muttered, "Bollocks." He whirled around, facing Sam, and the expression of cool disinterest finally vanished, replaced with anger. "You couldn't have waited four more hours!?" the demon burst out. " _For the love of_ – I had the whole speech prepared, word for word, but you weren't supposed to come running in right in the middle of– of–" Crowley's sentence degenerated into an irritated growl.

Sam approached him. "The middle of _what_?"

Crowley seemed at war with himself. A few tense moments passed, and then he tugged down the collar of his shirt. There were four needle marks there.

"If you want an explanation as to why you can't feel me anymore, I imagine with Cas's blood running through me, it's undoing whatever our little trial misadventure did to us. By midnight, our connection will most likely be gone."

Sam stared blankly at Crowley's neck.

"...And you'll be human," Sam whispered.

Crowley pursed his lips, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.

"Why?"

Crowley shrugged. "I... tried to go back to Crowley OG, so to speak. Didn't last long." He fiddled with his sleeves absent-mindedly. "I changed. I can't be King anymore. Not the kind of King that Hell needs. I'm miserable. I'm bored. It's a bad combination," he continued in clipped tones.

"This is what you wanted. This is what you've been fighting for."

"Maybe at the start," Crowley agreed. "But somewhere in this hideous mess... I started fighting for something else." Finally, his eyes met Sam's. "I started fighting for you."

"You..." He was dumbfounded. "Are you doing this for me?"

"I'd like to think I'm doing this for _us_."

"Crowley..." He didn't know what to say. He'd felt so abandoned by the demon for the past few weeks. He'd spent so much time wrapped utterly in Crowley, his mind, his slowly-developing heart, and then to have it all ripped from him... he'd thought that he'd imagined whatever it was that was between them, that Crowley really hadn't cared at all.

And yet there he was, standing in front of Sam and telling him that he was going to become human for him, for _them_.

"You don't need to do this."

Crowley shuffled. "If you'd like to tell me that suffering my presence for the rest of your mortal life isn't something you particularly want, now would _definitely_ be the time to tell me, while I've still got the receipt on this whole humanity business–"

Without a clue of what else to do, he grabbed Crowley by the tie and pulled him up and forward, kissing him hard on the mouth. Crowley stiffened in shock at first, but then melted into the sensation, hands reaching out to grip at Sam's biceps as a perfect suction formed between their lips.

Sam let it last. He needed it to. When he finally pulled back, he felt a substantial loss. Breathing hard, he let all of the words that were built up and struggling to escape burst from him, unrestrained. "You don't need to do this because I love you for what you are. I don't care if you're half-demon. I don't care if you're a _full_ demon. It wasn't my blood that changed you, Crowley. Maybe at first, yeah, but it was you– you decided to be good. You _chose_ to be good. And I'm saying this right now: I want you. I want you in my life. I wouldn't want it any other way, I wouldn't want _you_ any other way. It'll be hard, with the demon blood, yeah, but it's worth it. _You_ are worth it."

Crowley stared into his eyes, searching them.

"Moose?"

"Yeah?"

"That love part..."

"What about it?"

"Can you maybe say that again?"

Sam pulled Crowley to him, more or less crushing the demon against his chest. "Hey, Crowley."

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

* * *

Cas sat with his back resting against a broken down pew. His entire body ached, like he had transformed into one enormous bruise, but it all hurt too much for him to bother to struggle up and go seek out Crowley's help. The sounds of commotion had ceased, so he knew that could only mean that Anthriel was dead. He faded in and out of consciousness.

It wasn't until Dean walked through the door that his senses returned to him in full.

Dean bent down in front of him. They simply looked at each other for a few moments, drinking in the sight of one another. It hadn't even been three weeks since they'd last seen each other, but it felt like so much longer.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Dean asked quietly.

Cas tilted his head. His neck smarted at the movement. "What?"

"That case we worked, the Looney Tunes one? With the talking cat?"

Cas huffed out a laugh at the recollection. "It was very rude."

"Total douchebag," Dean agreed. "Now, if we were in a cartoon, and you'd been punched through a wall like that..." He pointed at the hole, tracing lines in the air with his finger that Cas couldn't make sense of. "There'd be a perfect Cas-shaped outline."

"If we were in a cartoon, I doubt that a murderous angel would be after us," he said haggardly.

"Point." He looked Cas up and down. "You want me to get Crowley in here, heal you up?"

"Is he speaking with Sam?"

Dean hesitated. "He is."

"I can wait."

Dean sank down beside Cas.

"You're alive," the hunter said, resting his hands on his knees. Cas mirrored his position.

"I am."

"Why?"

"I... don't know."

"Same as usual, then?"

"Essentially."

They both chuckled at that.

"Thank you," Cas said at length. Dean seemed puzzled.

"Thank me for what?"

"You saved the world. You didn't allow me to die in vain."

"I still allowed you to die."

"It wasn't your fault," Cas assured him. "Though I suspect you've heard that many times, by now."

"Oh yeah." Dean took a deep breath, and looked at the ceiling. "Cas."

"Yes?"

Dean put a hand on the side of Cas's face and leaned forward. He felt a deep cut under his palm. Cas really needed some demon doctoring. Their lips hovered, touching, but not kissing, just resting there.

"This is where you stop me," Dean said, "because this is probably a bad idea."

Cas's eyes met his. "I don't want you to stop."

Dean closed his eyes. "Fuck it." He unceremoniously pressed forward, more or less crashing their mouths together. It wasn't perfect, it was messy, and Cas didn't fully know what he was doing or whether he was doing it right, but it was good. It was good, and it hurt a little, and it was broken and confusing, just like the two of them had always been and with luck, always would be.

"I hate to interrupt–"

Dean and Cas broke apart so fast that Dean banged his head against the wall with a reasonable amount of force. He winced, looking for the source of the disruption.

"Fucking _Gabriel_."

The archangel leaned against the wall nearby, a lollipop stick hanging out of his mouth. "About time you crazy kids hooked up," he said with a lecherous wink. "I'm never one to cock-block, but I'm afraid I need to borrow your boyfriend for a second, Dean-o."

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and Dean was gone. The walls were suddenly intact once more. The sanctuary door slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone.

Cas shakily rose to his feet, shocked to his core to see the other angel standing there. Gabriel just smirked at him.

"Let's talk, little bro."


	85. Trade Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the 300k slash fic is finally a slash fic, and Earth is all that's left.

When Dean snapped back into existence, he was on the other side of the sanctuary door. "Fuck!" He tried to budge it, but it was thoroughly locked, probably _divinely_ locked, knowing Gabriel. There was no way he was getting through. The hole in the wall had also been repaired, forming an impenetrable barrier between he and Cas.

"Dean? What's going on?"

Dean turned. Sam and Crowley both seemed to be in pretty high spirits. They definitely looked a hell of a lot cheerier than they did when he'd left them five minutes ago. He noticed Sam subconsciously wipe his sleeve across his mouth. Ah. So it was that kind of thing, huh? Well, he and his brother evidently both handled their reunions the same way. Great minds.

"Gabriel's back, and he locked us out," Dean provided irritably. "Oh, Crowley, by the way, I saw your little setup in there– when exactly were you planning on telling us about you going native?"

"After I'd finished. Not my fault you two have no sense of dramatic timing," Crowley responded. "And what do you mean, Gabriel's back? He's _dead_. We all watched him die."

"Death doesn't mean too much anymore," Dean told him. "You fill him in yet?" he asked, directing the question at Sam.

"Hadn't exactly gotten around to it, yet," Sam said, and Dean had to hold back a laugh at the blush creeping up Sam's cheeks.

"Well, long story short: God suddenly gives a shit again. Or so it seems. Kevin, his mom, Bobby, they're all back. The bunker's good as new, Bobby says his house is back just like it was before, down to the last friggin' termite, and we've spent the past day playing Carmen San Diego with these weird ass clues that have been scattered around."

"Clues?"

"Well, we didn't get here off our own damn intuition," Dean said. "The map in the strategy room pretty much had a big glowing 'GO HERE' sign on it, and then when Kevin got zapped back, he woke up with a note on his chest, and unless Sam and I are tripping on the same brown acid, it looks like Chuck's handwriting. Like, Chuck _the dead prophet of the Lord_ Chuck."

"Ah, right. You haven't heard that little tidbit yet. Cas caught me up already. Cliff notes, at least: Chuck and God? The same bloke. More or less."

Dean just stared at Crowley. "The hell do you mean, Chuck is God?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Chuck liked day drinking and call girls. He wasn't God," Dean insisted, refusing to even entertain the idea. "I mean, _fuck_ , man, Chuck dated _Becky_. God doesn't date scary fangirls!"

"Believe it or not. That's in your court, mate, not mine," Crowley told him with a shrug.

"Chuck running the universe? No thanks. I'll take Morgan Freeman over that." Dean shook his head, attention already sliding back to what was happening behind the closed door. "What the hell does Gabriel want with Cas?"

* * *

"I bet you're wondering what the hell I want with you," Gabriel guessed as he paced around the room, idly tracing shapes in the dust with the tip of his shoe.

"It crossed my mind, yes," Cas said, cradling his stomach and trying to focus past the haze of pain. Gabriel's amber eyes flicked to him.

"Oh. Right. Angel smack down." He snapped his fingers, and Cas was instantly healed.

Cas breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Now... can you please explain to me how you're still alive?"

"Same reason you're still alive, Cas," Gabriel said. "Dad's home. Better late than never, right?"

"He brought you back, too? Did you speak to Him?"

"Yeah. Had a real heart-to-heart." Gabriel smirked at him. "I finally get to play messenger again, just like old times."

"And what message are you delivering?" Cas asked warily, approaching his older brother.

Gabriel fished the lollipop stick out of his mouth. It was now devoid of candy. He flicked it away. "It's more show, less tell," Gabriel said. He extended his hand to Cas. "Field trip time."

"I need to remain here for–"

"I'll have you back soon, relax."

Cas watched the archangel warily, but eventually he relented and grabbed his older brother's hand. In a flash, they were gone. When Cas came too, he felt... warm. Content. Fulfilled and at peace. Like...

"We're in Heaven," Cas said almost as soon as he'd regained his bearings. Gabriel released his hand. They were in a swath of towering pine trees, caught in their shadows among patches of wild lavender and flax. They were on a dirt path, water cheerfully burbling by their feet in the form of a crystal clear stream.

"Heaven's Garden," Gabriel clarified. "I don't know what you're seeing, with human eyes, but to me... looks pretty darn impressive. Josh revamped the place."

"It's beautiful– wait, do you mean Joshua?" Cas turned to Gabriel. "I thought he was lost when Eden burned."

"Made a narrow escape, hid out while the war was going on... now he's back home," Gabriel said. "Come on. Walk with me."

So he did. The sun rays breaking through the thick canopy overhead colored them in speckled yellow light. Birds flittered from tree to tree, the chatter of their song all around them. Cas breathed in the scent of pollen and grass, flowers and tree bark.

"This is beautiful," Cas said softly, reverently. He was surprised when he saw someone moving farther down the dirt path they were on. "Are there are other angels here?"

"They're all gathering here in preparation for the Gates closing," Gabriel told him. "Thought you might like to see the family reunion."

Three more angels passed in front of them, but they paid no mind to Cas and Gabriel.

"Can they see us?"

"Nope. I'm keeping us hidden. Don't want to have to watch for the angelic papparazzi," Gabriel responded. "Feel good to be back?" he asked, changing the subject.

Cas sighed deeply. "It feels like coming home."

"But," Gabriel said knowingly.

"But it's difficult to return, knowing all that I've destroyed here," Cas continued.

"This look destroyed to you?" Gabriel inquired, gesturing around them with wide open arms.

"It doesn't change what I've done," Cas said. "But still... I am glad that we've all returned here. It's for the best."

"Which brings me to my next question..." They stopped in the shade of a weeping willow.

"Yes?"

"Honestly, it might be a waste of time even asking you."

"Why?"

"Because I think I already know what you're gonna choose."

"Speak plain, Gabriel."

"Do you want to be an angel again, Cassie?"

Cas stared at the archangel, dumbfounded. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me. You helped save the planet. Dad's willing to give you your wings back, if you want them."

"But... you said that the angels are returning to Heaven, and they won't be permitted back on Earth."

"Well, maybe someday," Gabriel said with a shrug. "But no, not anytime in the near future. It's kind of like a Heavenly time-out."

Cas hated himself, but there was a tiny, traitorous voice in the back of his mind that urged him to take the offer. To be what he was meant to be again, to fly with his brothers and sisters in Heaven, to return home and sit at his Father's feet, like he was intended to do when he was originally created.

However, the rest of him quickly did away with that desire. He would take a mortal life down on Earth as a human, a meaningful life, a life with Dean and Sam, over a millennium in Heaven with his original family. All that had transpired in the past few years showed him that he was not cut out to be an angel. As a human, he had done well... he had been brave. He hadn't hurt anyone. He couldn't say the same of himself when he was an angel.

"I can see the old water wheel spinning in there," Gabriel observed. "What's it gonna be, Cas?"

"Thank you, but..." Cas turned his back on his brother. "I can't accept."

Gabriel sighed deeply. "Kid, I get that your head over heels for Dean, but you gotta take into consideration the fact that forty years down the line, the two of you are probably both gonna be dead. Then that's it: lights out. Humans, no matter what... they're always doomed. There's always a permanent end."

"Yes... but something isn't beautiful because it lasts." Cas flexed his hands, centering himself. _I'm making the right choice._ "Humans are odd. They think order and chaos are somehow opposites, and try to control what can't be controlled. They try to make sense of things that they were never meant to understand. They so often think in absolutes, but absolutes are the rarest thing in this universe... but there is grace in their flaws. A grace that angels will never have."

"I'm not gonna tell you you're wrong," Gabriel conceded. "I'm gonna miss that, honestly. That human tenacity. But I think my vacation's lasted long enough... I don't mind going home for a little while."

"Heaven is not what it once was," Cas warned his brother.

"Believe me, I know." Gabriel turned him around by his shoulder. "Look, I think you're a few nuts short of a crackerjack, Cas, but I hope that things work out for you." It was one of the most genuine things he'd heard from the arch in all the time he'd known him.

Cas allowed himself to smile.

"Thank you, Gabriel."

Gabriel patted him on the back. "Later, Cas."

In a blink, Cas was back at the church.

* * *

The sanctuary door opened.

"Finally," Dean said, rising to his feet. He and Sam had been sitting on a pew, Crowley in between them, giving Crowley a more detailed rundown of all that had happened since he'd up and vanished on them after Jerusalem. Cas exited the sanctuary, looking somewhat shaken. "Well? What did he say to you?"

Cas shook his head. "Nothing of import."

"Bullshit!" Dean said immediately.

"Can you perhaps save the temper tantrum for later?" Crowley asked as he and Sam stood. "We're on a timetable here, Kitten. It's time for injection number five."

"Whoa, what?" Sam turned to him. "I told you, you don't need to do this."

"That's all fine and well, Moose, but in spite of your touching speech, I haven't changed my mind," Crowley told him.

"Crowley–"

"I said I was doing this for us, Sam, as in both you _and_ I," Crowley said. "You can't begin to imagine what this feels like, on the inside. If I don't rip out either the human part of me or the demon part, I'll go mad." The King gave the group of them a strained, haunted smile. "I'm just being proactive."

"There's no turning back if you do this. You need to think this through–"

"I have." Crowley brushed past the two of them and headed for the sanctuary. Cas shot the two of them an apologetic look before tailing after the demon.

"We can't let him do this," Sam said, turning to Dean.

"Why the hell not? Gun to my head, human Crowley or demon Crowley? We both know which one I'm picking. Which one _everyone_ is picking."

Sam's jaw tightened. "What if he regrets it?"

Dean felt slightly helpless when he answered, "We just gotta hope that he doesn't."

Cas exited the sanctuary about three minutes later. Crowley didn't come with him.

"You're five hours in, right?" Sam asked softly.

Cas nodded. "Three more injections, and..."

"He'll be human."

"Yes."

Sam glanced at Dean.

"Go," Dean ordered.

* * *

Sam went into the sanctuary and closed the door behind him.

"Come by here often, handsome?" Crowley asked upon seeing him. The King sat on the chair in the broken devil's trap, hunched over, his usual rigid straight posture gone. His skin had grown even paler, and his eyes looked almost feverish.

"This looks like it's killing you," Sam said, worried.

"It's killing half of me," Crowley responded dully. "Come to lecture me some more?"

"No. It's not like I could talk you out of it, anyway. Once you've set your mind on something, you do it."

"One of my best qualities."

Sam went to the edge of the devil's trap and sat down cross-legged in front of Crowley.

"You gonna stay with me?" Crowley asked, narrowing his eyes at Sam.

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a time, until Crowley cleared his throat. "Ah... there's something I should say."

"I'm listening."

"Stand up for this one, Gigantor. This isn't the kind of thing you take sitting down."

Amused, Sam rose to his feet. So did Crowley. The top of the demon's head was level with his shoulders. The slight irritated twitch of Crowley's eyebrow let Sam know that the demon, after all this time, still wasn't pleased with their extreme height difference.

"Do you want me to get you a step stool?" Sam offered amicably.

"Bugger off, Moose." Crowley cleared his throat again, seeming on edge. "You remember... the last time we were here."

"I do."

"And what I said... what I wanted."

"I remember that, too."

"Well, I found that... in you," Crowley said haltingly. "And... this... you..." He really was trying, but it wasn't easy for him to the say the words, even after everything, even knowing that his feelings were real and ran deeper than he could ever even attempt to trace, even having heard Sam say those three words to him...

_Why can't I just bloody **say it?**_

He met Sam's eyes, and an idea occurred to him. "Maybe it's best to show, not tell."

Grasping what was left of their dying link, Crowley tried to make Sam understand.

Sam gasped at the intensity of the emotions that suddenly flowed over their quietly fading connection. Sam stumbled, and Crowley grabbed him, whirling around and carefully lowering him into the almost-throne. Crowley inhaled sharply when he suddenly felt a similar flood coming from Sam. There were no walls between them now. Trying to steady himself, Crowley laid his hands on Sam's face and leaned their foreheads together, letting his eyes slip shut.

He felt the most amazing things from Sam – for the first time, he saw himself how Sam saw him. Sam did not see his darkness and his blood lust, he didn't see the monster inside of him. He saw him for the man he once was and the man he had the potential to be. He saw him for the spark of good that hid inside of him. He saw his own smile in Sam's eyes, heard his own laugh, felt the joy it brought the human.

He felt the very thing he'd screamed for in this lonely church all those months ago. The thing he had begged the God he didn't believe in for. It warmed him. Between that and the human blood running through him, the emptiness and chill that had haunted him for so long faded, overrun by emotions so vivid and strong that he couldn't even begin to pick them apart and identify them.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.

_Is this what it means to be human?_

"Crowley..."

His lips were crushed against Sam's a moment later. Sam's hands were on his sides, gripping for dear life through the fabric of his suit coat. Crowley kissed him, hard and desperate, and Sam kissed him back just the same. He couldn't let go, couldn't pull back, just pressed and pressed, needing more of that feeling in his chest, in his head, needed to wrap his hands around the link they were soon going to lose and hold on for dear life.

Heat boiled inside of him. He needed Sam.

He needed Sam _right now._

Crowley parted Sam's lips, breathing softly into his mouth before slipping his tongue in. He ran his hands through Sam's hair, using it as leverage to pull him closer. Sam gripped him tighter, and then suddenly, Sam was pulling him forwards. Crowley landed less than gracefully in Sam's lap.

"In a church, Moose?" Crowley breathed out between kisses. "Really?"

"Do you want to stop?" Sam asked as he deftly unknotted Crowley's tie.

"Not a chance in Hell." Sam smiled, then tossed his tie to the side. He grabbed Crowley's shoulders, pulling him closer, their mouths returning to one another.

It was amazing; he could feel his own tongue through their link, feel his own two hands caressing Sam's cheek bones. The walls in their minds that had separated them were gone, and they were each experiencing what the other was. They were melding together physically and mentally.

It was Heaven. Better than anything those feathered bastards upstairs could ever give him.

He slid his hands down Sam's chest, undoing the buttons of his plaid shirt with ease. They broke apart briefly so Crowley could tear away the shirt and then pull up Sam's under shirt, revealing Sam's bare chest. Once the skin was exposed, Crowley's hands ran down his torso, fingertips dancing here and there, memorizing each muscle and scar, the feel of his skin.

Sam arched under his touch, his nerves practically singing as Crowley's hands effectively turned him into a puddle while their heated kiss continued. Sam's hands were in his hair now, pulling, but not painfully. Neither of them were worried about causing the other pain; they were so sensitive to each other's needs now that it wasn't even a possibility.

Crowley ran his hands over Sam's stomach. He felt so real, yet he almost couldn't believe that it was happening. He dove his face down to Sam's neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along his collar bone and throat. Sam bent back, giving him more access, and Crowley gladly took advantage of it.

Eventually, Sam dragged him up so their faces were even again, and his hands framed Crowley's face, dragging him down into another searing kiss. There was so much heat, it was like they were on fire. He wouldn't mind burning to ash with Sam Winchester.

He couldn't keep track of how long the kiss went on. Time meant nothing anymore. They only broke apart when Sam started unbuttoning Crowley's silk dress shirt. It had been a long time since anyone had bared him like that, and he felt a thrill of vulnerability. He calmed himself as the shirt was peeled off, reminding himself that he was with Sam. Sam, who he trusted. Sam, who would never hurt him.

Sam wouldn't hurt him because Sam _loved_ _him._

When the shirt was out of the way, Sam leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his pulse point. Through their connection he felt his own rapid heart beat against Sam's lips. Crowley ran his hands through Sam's hair again, reveling in the feel of the strands between his fingers.

With effort, he pulled away from Sam, forcing the hunter to look in his eyes.

"I love you," Crowley said thickly. The admission shook him to his core, but he felt a blossoming, sweet relief after finally giving the words life.

Sam cupped his face in his hands. "I love you, too," he said softly. "But... I don't know how the hell to do this."

Crowley shifted so he could run his hands down Sam's bare back, slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of Sam's jeans. "Trust me," he whispered, before his lips met Sam's once more. _"Just trust me, darling,"_ he said, his voice barely a murmur over their fading link.

_"I do."_

Crowley's unbuttoned Sam's jeans. With gentle hands, he slipped Sam out of his boxers. The hunter's cock was at full attention, flushed and hard against his stomach. Crowley drew up, kissing Sam's jaw while he ghosted fingertips over Sam's length. Sam arched into the contact, and he could feel the need pulsing over their link, enwrapping the both of them in a haze of passion.

In a way, he wished that now wasn't their moment. He wished that they were in a bed somewhere, wrapped in sheets, and they could slowly remove each article of one another's clothing, kissing it warm before the air had time to turn their skin cold. He wished it could be slower, drawn out, wished it could go hours and hours into the night, but patience never was one of his virtues. He needed Sam, needed his touch, his mouth, _everything._

He could feel what Sam wanted to give him; Sam wanted him to know, wanted him to understand that he was accepted, that he was loved, even as he was now. Even as a monster with a true face that was half terrified human and half bloodthirsty demon. With the flood of emotions overwhelming both of them, the desperation, the desire, there was no escaping it.

Tonight was _their_ night.

It wasn't perfect, but neither were they.

"Crowley... I need..."

"I know, Sam,"

Crowley ran his hands from Sam's abdominals down to his hips, where he held on tightly, his mouth hovering just a few inches over Sam's. "Are you sure, Sam?" he murmured.

Sam breathed in his words, and responded with, "I've never been more sure of anything."

And then Crowley was kissing him, kissing him like he's never been kissed before. Hands in his hair, lips relentless but soft. He was melting into Crowley, physically and mentally. Every sensation was super charged, every ghost of a touch on his skin, every swipe of Crowley's tongue and press of his lips.

Sam held onto Crowley, one large hand around the back of the demon's neck, practically cradling his head. The other rested at the small of Crowley's back, a particularly sensitive spot on him if the shot of pleasure over their bond and the practical cat-like arch of the demon's spine was any indication.

When Crowley's hand wrapped around his cock, Sam groaned, burying his face in the demon's shoulder, teeth resting on the soft flesh there. It was hard, not to bite down as hard as he could. Not to draw blood. Both he and Crowley knew the temptation was a strong one, a deep, hungry _need_ , but the infinitely gentle hand that carded through his hair helped curb the craving.

Crowley kissed his ear, breath hot as he whispered, "It's alright, Sam. It's alright."

"Crowley..." Sam tightened his grip on Crowley as the demon began to stroke him, slow and steady. Sam sat up straighter, Crowley moving with him. Sam pulled back enough to look him in the eye. Sam rested his forehead against Crowley's, hands reaching up to cup his face. Crowley continued his ministrations, and Sam's toes curled.

"I love you," Sam said again, because he felt like each time had more power, more weight.

Crowley rested his hand over the scarred matching handprint on Sam's chest, feeling the hunter's heartbeat under his palm. They shared air, the room silent other than their heavy breathing. What he wouldn't give to be frozen in that moment forever. The two of them, the intimacy, the closeness that Crowley had never felt with another before.

Sam dropped one hand from Crowley's cheek, reaching down and taking the demon in his hand, echoing Crowley's movements.

"I love you," Crowley echoed back, words nearly degenerating into a groan at Sam's touch. Crowley sped up his hand, and Sam did the same. "But Moose– I think I need to make it blatantly clear– if you don't shag me rotten, right the literal Hell _now_ –"

Sam cut him off with a hard kiss, pulling his head towards him. It was a hard one, that time, harder than any of the kisses that preceded it. Teeth bit his lip, hard, and Crowley tried his best not to moan like a wanton at the sensation. It was a reminder that Sam was not all soft, not all warmth. There was darkness in Sam Winchester. Maybe that was one of the reasons Crowley loved him. No, actually, that was definitely one of the reasons.

Maybe Sam's inner darkness and his own, maybe they matched.

Sam agreed with that assessment. He wrapped his arms tight around Crowley, his grip vice-like. His gray eyes were a thunderstorm. Lust. Love. Need. Pain. Hope. A hundred things in his eyes, in his mind, and Crowley saw everything.

Crowley snapped his fingers, evaporating his shoes, socks, dress pants, and underwear from sight. He couldn't put it off any longer. Sam's heat, his nearness, his touch, it was very quickly and very surely driving him mad.

"What are you waiting for?" Crowley murmured against Sam's lips.

"...lube," Sam managed as he busied himself trailing kisses down Crowley's neck.

Crowley hummed, and then made a gesture with his hand. Sam was immediately slicked and ready.

"Demon perks," Crowley murmured.

Yes, there was a natural process to things – one he and Sam would have to adhere to, once Crowley became permanently human – but for their first time together, why not make things as easy as humanly possible? Or rather, demonically possible.

Crowley tightened his bent legs on either side of Sam's thighs. Sam released Crowley's hands, grabbing the demon's narrow hips and positioning himself at Crowley's entrance. Crowley's fingers curled around Sam's biceps. They held like that for a few seconds, nerves alight with anticipation, with need, the emptiness in him screaming to be filled, and then–

Slowly, oh so slowly, he sank down.

With a great, heavy breath, Sam was inside of him.

Crowley wasn't a stranger to having someone inside of him – but he had only ever taken a cock in a female vessel, never in a male one. He found himself glad that Sam was the first one... glad that Sam would be the _only_ one to take him like this.

The only one. Forever – or at least, the little infinity they had together. One mortal life, if Sam would have him. Some infinities were bigger than other infinities, it was true, but he'd rather have one tiny forever with Sam Winchester than a never-ending existence without him.

Sam moved slow, at first, giving Crowley time to adjust and giving himself time to learn. However, Crowley quickly discovered a way that they could skip the learning phase. Their walls were non-existent, their minds already mingling at the edges. It was time to take it to the next level.

Crowley kissed Sam, and he pushed into his mind, meeting no resistance on his way. In a few moments, he'd partially overshadowed the hunter's senses. It was disorienting, seeing things from both his point of view and Sam's. One second he was watching a bead of sweat trace its way down Sam's forehead, and the next, he was looking at himself, flushed and with his mouth open, panting out pleasure at each thrust up of Sam's hips as Crowley came down on his length, again and again.

Giving and receiving, simultaneously. Soon enough, everything broke down around them, and Crowley didn't know who he was or where he was but all he felt and saw was _Sam_ , Sam inside of him in every single way. And Crowley understood, in that second, understood the saying...

_To love another person is to see the face of God._

"Fuck," Crowley nearly whimpered, kissing Sam to halt anymore embarrassing noises that might slip out of him. Sam kissed him back with passion, with warmth, hand on the side of his face firm but soft, and no one had ever touched him like that, not in his demonic life, not in centuries. Sex had been nothing but business for such a long time, a hobby during better times, and a tool at worst.

(It was easy to make Lilith think he was loyal to her and only her when he pledged himself to the she-demon with his body every night.)

He'd used it to get where he needed to be, to get release, never to be close, to just _feel_.

(Maybe it had been different with Bela, like he was on the edge of something that he couldn't name, but he'd watched the hounds drag her down in the end and felt nothing.)

Each shunt of Sam's hips sent a shudder through him, ripping him apart and putting him back together. He clung to Sam's shoulders, half-mindless, whispering things into his ear that he didn't even know the meaning of, things in long forgotten languages that all eventually degenerated into _yes, please, I love you, don't stop, more, yes._

Crowley was surprised when Sam rose from the chair and brought Crowley with him. Crowley wrapped his legs around Sam's waist, and Sam kept a tight grip on his back. Hovering on the edge of the devil's trap, Sam laid him down (still connected, that was important, he didn't want to be empty again) and they resumed, that time with Sam taking the lead.

Sam's hands held on tight to Crowley's face, and he kissed him over and over again, thrusting inside of him and shaking the both of them with each plunge. They were both falling apart, their movements becoming less polished by the second. He felt cold and superheated all at once; the cold stone floor, their combined body heat, a cold sweat and a hot flash at the same time.

"Crowley..." Sam breathed out, and he could tell he was losing control, but it was alright. He wanted to feel it, wanted Sam to lose himself inside of him more than anything.

Completely out of his head, Crowley panted, "Darling, please."

Sam buried his face in Crowley's neck, pushing himself in fully one more time before he came. When he sighed out Crowley's name, that was all it took to push the demon over the edge, and his release followed Sam's mere seconds later.

Gasping for air, they clung to each other, holding on for as long as they could.

* * *

"I've got good news," Dean said, filling the silence between he and Cas. They'd just been sitting there, side by side, knees brushing.

"What is it?" Cas asked, tilting his head.

"The bunker. It's back, good as new."

Cas seemed to brighten at that. "You were given your home back."

"Our home," Dean corrected. "Which, uh... just to clarify, you're coming back with us, right? You and Crowley?"

"I would like that. If it's alright with you and Sam."

"Dude, that's so not even a question. You're family."

Cas smiled at him. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean watched Cas, feeling half-awed to just be sitting there next to him.. "I'm so fucking glad you're back, you don't even know. These last few weeks..."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's been... difficult. Being away from you."

"Yeah, but you knew I was alive."

"True."

Dean leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Cas... don't ever do that to me again. Don't you dare."

"I didn't mean to die on you."

"I know. But... I can't..." He shifted. "Every other time, I've been able to handle it. Losing you. It was hard, damn hard, but I got through it. This time, I– I couldn't shake it. I think it might be because of what you said, right before the lights went out."

Cas blinked. "You mean when I professed my love for you?"

Dean gulped. "Uh, yeah. That." He turned to Cas, who was staring directly into his eyes, die-hard fan of eye contact as he was. "That makes things kinda complicated, now."

"It does? I thought I made myself clear. I love you. I've loved you ever since I held your broken soul in my hands and raised you from Hell. Because even shattered, you were beautiful, and you shined brighter than anything I had ever seen before. Brighter even than Heaven."

His words were strong, sincere, and those piercing blue eyes never once left Dean's.

"Jesus, Cas, what am I even supposed to say to that?" he said shakily, affected by the intensity of the ex-angel's words.

"You don't have to say anything."

Dean lowered his head into his hands. "I... you and me. There's something here. I can't pretend there isn't. Not anymore. I can't shake that, either."

"I'll be happy with whatever you decide, Dean. If you wish to be friends, I'll love you as a friend. If you wish to be more, I'll love you as more."

"It's not that easy."

"Isn't it?"

Dean stared down at his feet. A spider waltzed by. He nudged it with his boot, and it scuttled away. He felt restless, nervous in his own skin.

"It's not that easy because I know I love you," Dean eventually murmured in a rush. "And I don't want to hurt you."

"You've hurt me. I've hurt you. We've hurt each other. I would say that's one of the key components of our relationship thus far."

"That's not good, Cas!" Dean burst out, trying to make the former angel understand. "I– I break things, man! I don't... I don't want to break you," he finished weakly.

Cas's smile was a sad one. "My friend... I've already been broken."

"Damn it, Cas–"

"You told me before that it didn't matter to you," Cas cut across him.

"I was being a dick when I said that."

"At the time, I needed to hear it." Carefully, Cas took Dean's hand in his own. "This may not work. It may hurt us both worse than we have ever been hurt before. We may both be broken, by the end." His eyes were on Dean, and Dean felt compelled to meet Cas's ice blue gaze. "But I believe it's worth the risk. _We_ are worth the risk."

It was a strange feeling, to look at someone who had seen him at his absolute best and absolute worst, and seen into his soul, felt his soul in their hands, knew him inside and outside... and to see no condemnation in Cas's eyes, to see nothing but unconditional love and acceptance...

"I love you, you asshole," Dean said, and _fuck_ , there were tears in his eyes. "Don't ever leave me again."

Cas leaned against Dean's shoulder. "I won't."

* * *

"Fuck..." Sam gasped against Crowley's shoulder, soaked in sweat and utterly out of breath. The demon's cheek rested against his, and he was in a similar state of disrepair.

"That was..." Crowley didn't seem able to find the words.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't we do that sooner?" Crowley wondered.

"I have no idea."

"As they say, slow burn romances are always the best," Crowley said, kissing Sam's cheek. "Though I would love to cuddle, I am due for another dose of the good stuff, and somehow I doubt you want your brother and Castiel to find us in such a... _compromising_ position."

"Point," Sam conceded. "Can you–?"

Crowley was one step ahead of him. The demon snapped his fingers, and they were both fully clothed and clean, as if nothing had ever happened. Crowley was still underneath him, with Sam's weight pinning him down.

He gave Sam a brief kiss on the lips. "To be continued," the King murmured as he pulled away and rose to his feet. He pulled Sam up with him, using his demonic strength while he still had it.

Their eyes locked as Crowley lowered himself back into his almost-throne. Sam smiled. So did Crowley.

"You two done eye-sexing each other?"

Sam turned. Dean and Cas stood by the door. Dean's eyes were red-rimmed, and he had to wonder what his brother and Cas had talked about while he and Crowley were... otherwise engaged.

"Hardly," Crowley remarked with a lecherous smirk. "Cas, be a dear and open up a vein, would you?"

Cas nodded, heading to the syringes lined up on the broken pew.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, sizing up Crowley.

"Like I'm having 50% of my species torn out of me," Crowley answered. "In other words: bloody fantastic."

Dean cast Sam a sideways glance. "Think he'll be less of a douche once he's human?"

Sam laughed. "Not a chance."

"Careful, my darlings. I'm not quite human yet. Wouldn't want to test my good humor." Cas arrived at Crowley's side, syringe in hand. "Onwards and upwards." Cas administered the sixth injection. Crowley flinched, but Sam doubted that it was from the pain of the shot.

"You okay?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Never been better," was Crowley's tight response. His cheek twitched. He pushed himself out of the chair. Heat radiated from the demon, even more so than usual. He wasn't solid on his legs. He paced the room, looking like a caged animal.

"Okay. Now what?" Dean asked.

"Now, we wait," Cas replied. "There's only two hours left."

Crowley cracked his neck. "One hour, fifty eight minutes, and twenty nine seconds, actually."

"Eager to get this over with?" Dean asked.

"Ever heard of ripping off the band-aid?" Crowley responded. The demon's hands clenched, and his jaw worked furiously.

"Anyone got a deck of cards?" Dean inquired, trying to break the heavy tension in the room.

"Check your pockets," Crowley muttered. Dean reached into his coat and pulled out a deck.

"Nice magic trick."

"May be my last."

Dean glanced around the room. "Any of you ever played Bullshit?"

* * *

Cas was horrible at Bullshit. Sam and Dean were excellent. Crowley still kicked their asses at it anyway, even though he looked like he was on the verge of fainting. When it was time for the seventh dose, the demon got to his feet. He stumbled sideways into Sam, who steadied him with a hand.

"You need to sit down."

"I'm fine, Moose," Crowley said, shaking off his hand. Cas was already preparing the seventh needle.

"You look like you're gonna faint," Sam said as he sat Crowley down in the almost-throne.

"Demons don't faint," Crowley responded, pinching the bridge of his nose with ashen fingertips.

"You're only about twenty percent demon right now, so..." Dean pointed out.

"Shut up, Squirrel."

"Just saying, man."

Cas arrived with the next syringe. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Crowley said through gritted teeth.

Cas pushed the needle into Crowley's neck. The blood drained fast from the syringe. The demon let out a strangled exclamation, his fingers digging into the chair arms. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, face a mask of pain, but Dean doubted it was at all physical.

"Crowley–"

"Get out of here," he cut across Sam. Sam blinked, simultaneously hurt and surprised. Crowley's eyes were hard when he looked up at him. "I need a moment alone, alright?"

Dean and Cas exchanged an uncomfortable glance, then began to back out.

"Sam," Crowley's tone was pleading and frustrated at the same time when he didn't move. _"Please."_

Sam pursed his lips, then whispered, "Alright." He followed after Castiel and his brother, leaving Crowley alone.

* * *

Once they'd cleared the room, Crowley put his head in his hands and quietly lost his shit. He needed solitude, now. If he was truly going to become human, he was going to do it with what he was deprived of last time: dignity. He wouldn't break down in front of Sam and the others. A storm of feelings washed over him, brought on by the second to last dose of blood. Tears poured unrestrained down his face as he was gripped by spectacular remorse, pain, joy, hate, love, every emotion that had been drowned in his smoke for so long, reignited by Cas's blood pumping through him.

He could barely feel his connection to Sam, anymore. He hated that becoming human meant sacrificing their bond. His link to the hunter had been what pulled him out of the dark, the true cure hiding behind eight injections of blood. He doubted such a thing would happen between he and Cas; the demon blood in Sam and the nature of the trials probably was the source of their unusual tie, not the ritual itself.

He would be alone in his thoughts. It was a lonely prospect. But at least they were still bonded... only in their hearts, instead of their minds. What happened between them seemed surreal, now, as the world spun around him, but he clung onto it, tried to imagine Sam's lips and hands on him again, centering him.

A tendril of concern entered his conscience, a flicker from Sam. Crowley pushed it out as he pressed his palms into his eyes, trying and failing to calm himself. It was too much. He was drowning, and it was only going to get worse for the next hour, if his last experience in the church was any indication.

_"Where do I start... to even look for forgiveness?"_

Had he found it, or was he just as damned as he was before?

"If the devil struggles to be good again, is he still the devil?"

Crowley raised his head. Tears continued stinging trails down his cheeks. His shoulders shook. "Get out of here, Loki," he growled. It may have been his last chance to see his old friend, but he didn't want Gabriel to see him. He didn't want _anyone_ to see him.

"Not Loki, remember?"

"You'll always be the Trickster to me," Crowley replied. "Now kindly get the hell out of here."

"I thought misery loved company," Gabriel commented, rounding the back of Crowley's almost-throne.

"I'm not miserable."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Want to explain the waterworks, then?"

Crowley just glared at him in response.

"I'm not here to bug you, for once," Gabriel said. "I've got two messages, and a gift."

Crowley narrowed shimmering eyes at the archangel. "I don't like the sound of that."

"First off, you notice anything different about your vessel?" Gabriel inquired.

"Been a little preoccupied in the past few hours."

"Just look inside yourself, Crowley. Do some... _soul_ searching."

He could sense the archangel's bad pun a mile away. Crowley quickly realized what Gabriel meant. "My vessel's soul– it's gone."

"Yep. Apparently Dad has some kind of plan for the poor bastard you took, so he popped him back, body and soul, and let you keep the spare," Gabriel explained.

"So this body..."

"Is yours, and yours alone."

He felt something give in his chest at that; how long had it been since he had his own body? Something that was truly _him_ , not an attractive, well-fitted suit?

"Moving on," Gabriel continued. "I gotta hurry– I need to be back up top in an hour. You're my last stop." He gave Crowley a mirthless smile. "You're the last thing I'm going to see on the mortal plane. You better feel special."

"As if you won't sneak out of Heaven the first opportunity you get."

"Spoilers," he said with an amused raise of his eyebrow. "Okay, anyway... how to put this delicately..." He clapped his hands together. "The Gates of Hell are getting shut forever! Sorry. But hey, you're doing the whole 'human' gig, right? So no worries!"

There was enough humanity in him at the moment for him to recognize that yes, the Gates of Hell being closed was probably a good thing, but there was also still the demon in him that was screaming his bloody head off at the thought.

"You're shutting down Hell," Crowley said in a monotone.

"Yep! Human souls can go down, obviously, but all the demons stay in. Needless to say, your old department is getting abolished."

He felt a solid, pulsing rage deep in his chest. He could only hope it would disappear once the cure was complete.

"You don't look too happy. Don't be too bummed out. Heaven's shut down, too. God's balancing his books, and he's closing some accounts."

"Hell won't stay closed," Crowley warned. "The demon I left in charge, he loves Earth. He won't just lie down and take this."

"Well, if he manages to bust out, I'll be surprised," Gabriel admitted. "Sorry, Crowles. I know it's kind of a buzz kill. It's funny, though. I was actually planning on coming down here and saying that I would turn you human so you wouldn't be trapped in Hell for the rest of forever... but, just like always–"

"I was one step ahead of you," Crowley finished. "You mentioned a prezzie?"

"Always so greedy."

"King of Hell, remember?"

"Not for long." Gabriel approached him. "Not really something you can put up on the mantel, but... well, you asked for it."

He laid his hand on Crowley's forehead. For a moment, he was convinced he was going to be smote.

Until he _felt it_.

To describe it was impossible. It was... soul-deep, whatever it was... it was as though bags of concrete had been sitting on his chest, weighing down his shoulders, wrapped around his legs for the past three centuries, and in one glorious moment, it was gone, lifted, mercifully lifted as if it had never even been there at all. Crowley gasped, so overwhelmed by the sensation. His mind and heart felt cleansed, purified, rejuvenated.

"What... is this..." he whispered, awestruck, tears pouring unrestrained down his face.

"You asked for love. You asked for forgiveness," Gabriel said, no trace of humor in his voice. "God answers all prayers."

He saw a white light. He faded in and out, drifting into the sea of warmth that surrounded him, bathing in it, sacrificing sense and awareness just to revel in the feeling. _Forgiveness._ It felt like he was born again, fresh, undamaged. It was incomparable to anything.

When finally he returned fully to himself, Gabriel was gone. His eyes felt dry and scratchy, and his head throbbed from crying. He was slumped over in his almost-throne. The room swam around him.

_God answers all prayers._

He'd been forgiven.

Crowley sobbed into his hands.


	86. How Far We've Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love,  
> it will not betray you, dismay, or enslave you  
> it will set you free  
> be more like the man you were made to be  
> there is a design, an alignment to cry  
> of my heart to see  
> the beauty of love as it was made to be."
> 
> (Mumford and Sons, "Sigh No More")

The final injection was by far the hardest to give Crowley.

The demon was a mess, eyes glazed over with tears, whole body trembling. He was mostly catatonic now, slipping in and out of lucidity. Sam was kneeling in front of him, hands resting on the demon's knees, whispering quiet words of encouragement to him as Cas prepared the final dose.

"I hope to God this works," Dean muttered to Cas.

"It will," Cas reassured him. "And when it's done, Crowley will be happy. Truly happy."

"Here's hoping." He patted Cas's arm. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Cas went to Crowley. Gently, he tipped the King's head to the side. Crowley's eyes, briefly coherent, met Sam's.

"I'll miss feeling you," he whispered, voice hoarse.

Cas stuck in the needle. The demon's eyes shut tight. A scratching sound came from his throat, half growl and half whimper, like a wounded dog.

"The knife, Dean," Cas requested. Dean passed Cas Ruby's knife. The ex-angel opened up his hand, slicing open his hand with a wince. "Crowley... are you ready?"

Crowley's eyes were still closed. He nodded. Cas lowered his hand to the demon's mouth. "Drink," he murmured softly. Crowley opened his mouth and did as he was told. Cas began to chant the Latin incantation under his breath, " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus hanc animam redintegra... lustratus... lustratus!_ "

Crowley's eyes glowed bright orange, the light shining through underneath his skin. For a brief second, Cas felt a horrible current of fear – _what if I'm killing him_ – but almost as quickly as the light came, it flashed, and then faded. Crowley went limp, seeming to fall into unconsciousness.

He, Sam, and Dean were dead silent, watching the demon... or human... searching for some signs of life. Sam hesitantly checked his pulse.

"He's breathing. Pulse is thready," Sam provided.

"Let's get the little bastard out of here," Dean said. "Get him home."

Sam tilted his head in agreement. He leaned down, scooping Crowley up in his arms. The former King still didn't stir. Castiel departed briefly to get Aziraphale and Crowley's bags (mainly clothing for once he was human) from Crowley's Bentley. They would have to come back at some point for the vintage car.

Once Cas returned, cat in his arms, Dean cleared his throat.

"Claire," Dean called out. "You mind doing us a solid?"

"Yeah, but it better be a pretty quick solid." All three of them jumped at the abrupt sound of Claire's voice behind them.. "If what that Gabriel guy said is true, I've got about another five minutes of being an angel left."

"I thought you didn't buy that?" Dean said.

"I don't, not really, but just in case he's telling the truth, I don't want to zap myself somewhere and then get stuck," Claire explained. "You want the bunker?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Where are the others?"

"Bobby's with Kevin and his mom, making sure nothing happens to them. He warded the house against everything except... well, me." She frowned. "Oh, by the way, try to be nice to Kevin next time you talk to him– apparently his dead girlfriend got brought back too."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Sam commented as they approached Claire.

"Well, she got brought back to life, and then called Kevin to dump him, because apparently she doesn't want to date a guy who hangs around demons and gets their significant others killed."

"Technically the only demon he hangs around isn't a demon anymore," Dean said. Claire's eyes fixed on Crowley. She seemed worried.

"Is he alright?"

"Not really. But he will be... hopefully."

"He's human," Claire said, surprised. "I can see his soul. It's really bright, now."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's lit up like a damn Christmas tree. Can you get us out of here?"

"So demanding." She rolled her eyes in true teenager fashion. "I'll have to take you in trips." She grabbed Sam's shoulder and Crowley's wrist. They blinked out. A moment later, she returned for Dean and Cas. She fisted her hands in the fabric of their sleeves, then teleported them back to the bunker. Sam and a still unconcious Crowley were waiting for them in the foyer.

* * *

Cas set Aziraphale down on the ground once they'd regained their bearings. The cat wove its way through Cas's legs, then moved onto Dean. He sneezed.

"Fuckin' cat," he muttered, but he leaned down to pet the thing anyway.

"There you go," Claire said. "Now, I need to get back home–"

Claire broke off abruptly, eyes widening. She dropped to her knees, hands going to her throat.

"Shit," Dean cursed, and he dove down, sliding in next to her. Cas did the exact same. Dean held her up on one side, and Cas the other, fully supporting her as she wretched and choked.

"What's happening to her?" Cas asked, frantic. "Is Gabriel doing this to her?"

Before any of their questions could be answered, Claire coughed out a plume of bright white-blue energy. It swirled through the air, did a loop-de-loop, and then sailed up to the ceiling, eventually melting into it and disappearing from sight.

Claire collapsed.

"Did she just get her wings clipped?" Dean wondered, shocked.

"I would say so," Castiel said. "She... she spat out Lailah's Grace."

"I guess when you're an archangel, there's not many things that you can't do," Sam said. "Come on. Let's go lay her down in one of the spare rooms."

Dean picked Claire up, and he brought her to the room next to Kevin's, placing Claire on the bed. Cas, seeming concerned as all hell, tucked her in. Maybe a little too tightly – the kid looked like a damn burrito – but Dean didn't have the heart to tell Cas to loosen it up a bit.

When they went back into the foyer, Sam wasn't holding Crowley. The demon (not demon?) was sitting at the table, resting his head on his arms.

"Hey, you're alive!" Dean said cheerfully. "How you feeling?"

Crowley groaned. "Old."

"Bones aching?" Dean asked.

"Mhmm."

"Tingly butt cheek?"

"Mhmm. And not the fun kind of tingly."

Been there, done that. He still remembered his brief stint as a ridiculously old man. "Welcome to middle-age, Crowley."

The former demon groaned again. "I'd tell you to go to Hell, but that's not really an option anymore."

Dean's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

" _I mean_ , Gabriel dropped by before the big finish to let me know that Hell's shut down, permanent-like. If everything is going on-schedule, the Gates of both Heaven and Hell are being sealed as we speak."

"Seriously?" Sam exclaimed. "That's amazing, though. That's what we wanted, the night the angels fell. Everything just went really, really wrong."

"Yeah, well," Dean said. "We'll see how long it lasts. I'm betting it won't be too long before someone pops a lock."

"Always the pessimist," Crowley commented. He lifted his head, eyes blinking hazily. "Strange as it is to say it... I think I need to sleep."

"Let's get you in bed," Sam said, offering Crowley a hand and helping him out of his chair. The once-demon still seemed unsteady on his feet.

"About time," Crowley said with a faint smirk. Dean snorted.

"Sweet dreams, Crowley," he called as Sam escorted him down the hallway.

When they were gone, Dean turned to Cas.

Cas was watching him, eyes intent.

"It's over," Cas said slowly. "It's truly over. The angels are in Heaven. The demons are in Hell. The humans rule the Earth again."

"Best case scenarios all around," Dean commented. "For once."

"I believe this is what is commonly called a... happy ending," Cas said. "Are you happy, Dean?"

Dean thought about it. "Yeah, Cas... I think I am," he replied. "But I can think of something that might make me even happier."

"What is it?" Cas asked, tilting his head.

Dean nodded towards the hallway that held their bedrooms. "Come on. I'll show you."

Cas followed him. Dean kicked the door closed once they were in his room – their _room_.

"I meant what I said earlier," Dean said when it clicked shut. He and Cas only stood a few inches apart.

"So did I."

"So. Where's that put us?" Dean asked.

Cas smiled at him, something wistful... no. Something hopeful.

"I believe it puts us right here," the once-angel said. He leaned forward, his lips pressing lightly against Dean's. Dean breathed deeply. It was barely a kiss, but it felt right.

Cas pulled back far too soon for his liking. "I love you," Cas said again, and Dean felt like something tore in his chest. Every time Cas said it, it broke him a little bit more... but in a good way.

Dean realized that he didn't see Castiel as an angel anymore, didn't see him as a man, he just saw him as Cas. Cas, who he knew damn well he couldn't live without. Cas, who in spite of everything he'd done, Dean was still fiercely loyal to. Cas, who he could smell and hear breathing and why the hell was his heart beating so damn _fast_ –

Before Dean even registered what he was doing, he grabbed handfuls of Cas's shirt and dragged him forward, their mouths meeting again. Cas's hands went to grip at Dean's face, and when Dean moved his lips against Cas's, he responded eagerly.

Cas tilted his head so they could deepen their kiss. Dean was lost, his senses filled with nothing but Cas's presence. God, why had he held back for so long? This was good, so good. He slipped his tongue into Cas's mouth, an the ex-angel let out a soft moan that sent a shiver up Dean's spine.

The tenderness evaporated fast, something stronger replacing it.

Dean bit Cas's lip, and fucking hell, Cas moaned, and then before Dean knew it he was shoving him down on their bed (damn right, _their_ bed) and his tongue was in Cas's mouth again, and shit _,_ he tasted good. They were gasping, both gasping, struggling for breath and not caring, and Dean was panting against Cas's neck and unceremoniously grinding down on his thigh, needing friction, needing pressure, needing more.

He didn't realize how much he'd been holding back until he finally had a chance to let it go.

Cas flipped them over, and he saw in his eyes the fury of the angel that had slaughtered demon after demon and pulled him kicking and screaming out of Hell, who had burned his handprint into his skin and marked him. He scissored his legs in between Dean's, and Cas was kissing him, kissing him hard, and Dean didn't know whether he'd picked it up from the pizza man or from Jimmy's memories or maybe Cas was just fucking _good at it_ , but Cas was turning him on to the point of pain.

And then Cas was positioned a little too perfectly over Dean's crotch, and he was grinding down, thrusting with his hips, and Dean was halfway to seeing stars. Fighting for dominance, Dean pushed Cas back so he was sitting on his haunches, and he was attacking his jaw with his mouth, shoving his hands up the back of Cas's shirt, desperate to touch skin. And ha fucking ha, it was that red shirt that he told Cas to buy, 'cause chicks dig red.

_Dudes dig red, too._

Dean decided he would dig it even more on the floor.

Once Cas was sans-shirt, Dean shoved him back down on the bed, hands sliding down Cas's chest, trying to remember every detail. He pressed the two of them together, rubbing, subtle thrusting, anything to get closer, to feel more. He licked and bit lightly at Cas's neck, causing the once-angel to arch up dramatically into him and groan in that deep rasp of his. Throwing all inhibitions to the wind, Dean reached down and cupped Cas through his frustratingly still present pants.

Cas's fingers dug into his back, and he practically _whined_.

_I don't really know how to do this,_ Dean wanted to say.

"Cas," he panted out instead, mouth pressed against Cas's ear.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Can we have sex? Like, right now?"

"I am very much alright with that."

"Good."

Cas wasted no more time, quickly grabbing the bottom of Dean's t-shirt and tugging it up, up, over his head. He threw it to the side before pulling Dean back, their chests flush against one another. Their bodies rocked together, squeezing, both of them losing themselves in a fog of pleasure and pressure.

Not enough.

Dean grabbed Cas's waist band and ripped his pants off so fast it almost looked like a magic trick. Next thing he knew, he and Cas were wrestling around on the bed, and Cas was unbuttoning Dean's jeans, fumbling with the zipper, doing everything he could just to get him naked, all the while kissing the spot where his collar bone met his throat.

"Jesus, Cas."

In the great battle of Castiel vs. Dean's pants, Cas won. Both of their boxers went next, and Dean should've felt exposed, should've felt fucking scared, because he was completely bare with another man, and that was not something Dean Goddamn Winchester did.

_No. It's something Dean Goddamn Winchester **does**._

Dean grabbed Cas's face and kissed him hard, and things proceeded surprisingly naturally from there. Dean was not an idiot, he knew they needed lube for what they were about to do. Spit would have to do, he decided, because he wasn't about to get up and go to the bathroom for a bottle of lotion, that's for damn sure.

Kissing, touching, a rhythm of intense, inescapable need...

Once Dean was inside, Cas yelped– it would've been utterly un-sexy coming from anyone else, but just knowing that he'd made Cas make that sound, it made the fire in his stomach burn at double the heat, searing the inside of his skin.

"You okay, man?" Dean murmured against his cheek.

"I... yes... I just..."

"I'll stop if you need me to."

"Don't," Cas said immediately, tightening his grip on Dean. "Please, please don't. I just..." He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "I would... can you move?"

Dean shifted, trailing a hand down Cas's thigh. He pulled out ever so slightly, and then pressed back in. Cas threw his head back, mouth open, but no sound came out.

"Like that?" Dean asked lowly.

"Yes..."

And so it began. With each thrust inside of Cas, Dean felt closer to the angel, like they were melting into each other. He'd never felt more complete than he did right now, wrapped up in Cas. Exerting every ounce of control he had, he tried to keep his pace slow and measured, knowing it was all new for Cas, knowing he needed time to adjust.

"Does it hurt?" Dean panted.

"No...it's tight, but... it's good." He pulled Dean down, kissing him messily, gasping out a plea of _"don't stop"_ as Dean pushed into him again.

Once Cas felt stretched and some of the tension had faded from his face, Dean moved faster, harder. The bed shook underneath them. Cas called out with each thrust, kissing Dean wherever his lips happened to land and holding onto him for dear life.

Cas crooned his name into his shoulder, kissing the shell of his ear, and Dean knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He usually prided himself on his stamina, but he'd never felt like this before, felt so strongly for someone, wanted to bury himself in them and never move, never leave, just stay tied with them forever.

"Fuck," Dean growled, kissing Cas, trying to hold back. " _Fuck_ , Cas. I love you."

He shunted his hips again. His name left Cas's lips again, and the angel was coming hot and hard, eyes glistening with tears and pure rapture on his face. Dean only survived four more thrusts before he followed Cas, crying out hard and collapsing on top of him.

He slid out of Cas, hating to say goodbye. Still struggling to breathe, he rolled over onto his back, pulling Cas with him. Cas's head rested against his chest, and it felt right.

It had been a long time since he'd felt right.

* * *

Sam's door shut quietly behind them. He watched Crowley, who was staring down at his hands, flexing them experimentally.

"How do you feel?" Sam asked softly.

"Weak," Crowley admitted. "But..." He narrowed his eyes, as if thinking hard about his next words. "But better," he decided.

"I still can't believe that you're human," Sam told him, taking a step closer to the former King.

"It's a whole new world, Moose," Crowley said, a faint flicker of a smile passing over his lips. "One I will appreciate in full tomorrow. Right now-"

"Sleep. Right." Sam reached for Crowley. He unknotted the demon's tie with deft fingers. Once it was off, he hung it on the doorknob.

Crowley looked at him with a raised eyebrow as Sam began unbuttoning his shirt. "Believe it or not, this isn't what I meant by sleep."

Sam laughed. "Get your mind out of the gutter. Most people don't sleep in full clothing, Crowley."

He finished with the buttons of Crowley's shirt. He laid it on top of his dresser. He undid Crowley's belt next. He had the demon kick off his shoes, and then removed his pants. When Crowley was in his boxers, Sam went to his bed, pulling back the covers for him.

"Do you want me to leave a light on?"

Crowley's eyes said something along the lines of, _"Bitch, please."_

Sam turned out the overhead light, shrouding them both in darkness. Crowley climbed into the bed, pulling the sheets and comforter over himself.

After a moment, he asked, "You going to join me?"

Sam nodded, but then realized Crowley couldn't see him. "Yeah." He undressed, leaving himself in his underwear. He slid in next to Crowley. The new human shifted, and from the ghost of breath on his cheek, he knew Crowley was facing him. Sam reached out, putting a hand on the side of Crowley's face.

"Want me to sing you a lullaby?" Sam joked.

"Get bent."

Sam chuckled, leaning his forehead against Crowley's. "Hey," he said. "...Thank you."

"You'll have to be more specific. You have plenty of things to thank me for."

"For doing this. You... you gave up everything for me. No one but Dean's ever done that before."

"Your brother is my only real competition, then? I knew it."

"I'm serious."

Crowley sighed deeply. After a long moment, he said, "I didn't give up everything, Sam. I _gained_ everything."

"Do you really feel like that?"

Crowley slid his hand around the back of Sam's neck, bringing him forward. They shared a soft, slow kiss. When he pulled away, Crowley whispered, "I will always feel like that."

Tangled up in each other's arms, they fell asleep not five minutes later.

* * *

Once they'd both managed to regain their breath, Cas laughed.

"What's so funny?" Dean murmured into the ex-angel's hair.

"Well, you told me once that you wouldn't let me die a virgin," Cas reminded him. "I didn't realize that you intended on taking matters into your own hands."

"If you want something done right..." He breathed deeply. They were quiet, for a time, just awash in each other's presence, in the afterglow. It felt right, what had happened between them.

It felt right, and it felt long overdue.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked at length.

"Of course."

"What did Gabriel really say to you?"

Cas hesitated to answer for so long, Dean wondered if he was going to respond at all. Just when Dean was about to drift off to sleep, Cas murmured, "He gave me a chance to go back."

"Go back?"

"To Heaven," Cas clarified. "He gave me a chance to be an angel again."

Dean pulled up, shocked. "He gave you a chance to get your wings back, and you didn't take it?"

Cas's eyes met his. He reached over Dean, laying his hand over the scar on Dean's shoulder. An electric current ran through him, and he didn't know whether it was imagined, or if there still was that connection between the two of them, that reminder of the Grace Cas once had.

"No," he said firmly. "I didn't. What I have on Earth is far greater than what I could ever have in Heaven."

"Shit, man," Dean said, shaking his head. "I'm never gonna get what you see in me."

Cas moved his hand, carding it lovingly through Dean's hair. "I see a man who loves deeply. Who fights for what is right, who is unendingly brave, and unbelievably selfless. I see _you_."

Dean didn't know how to respond to that, so he just leaned his forehead against Cas's, letting his eyes slip shut.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For... for staying." That was all he'd ever needed from Cas, all these years. He just needed him to stay.

"I'll always stay with you," Cas murmured back.

Dean was the first to fall asleep.

Cas watched over him.

* * *

Dean woke early the next morning. He didn't know specifically what had stirred him from his sleep, but he suspected that Cas drooling on his chest was the most likely culprit. Try as he might, he just couldn't drift back off again.

He checked the time on his alarm clock. Ten past six. Maybe he would get up and make breakfast for everyone. True, he didn't know what food Crowley ate and what he didn't eat, but if the little bastard didn't like pancakes and bacon, that was his own damn problem.

Dean carefully extracted himself Cas's grip, trying not to jostle him as he climbed out of bed. Cas, predictably, didn't seem to notice. The apocalypse itself wouldn't be able to Cas up before he was ready.

Dean stood up, hearing his bones creak with the movement. He stretched, already missing Cas's warmth. His eyes fixed on Cas, who was sprawled out, stark naked, wrapped up in Dean's sheets.

Memories from the night before swept through Dean's mind, and he smiled. He tugged the comforter up over Cas, just in case Sam or Crowley decided to pop in before the former angel had a chance to wake up.

After pulling on a pair of boxers and an old Metallica t-shirt, Dean slipped out of his bedroom. He closed the door quietly behind him. He made his way down the hall, stopping briefly in front of Sam's room. Surreptitiously, he pressed an ear to the door. Soft, heavy breathing... and then snoring. The breathing was definitely Sam's. He could only assume that the snoring was coming from Crowley.

"Saw that coming a mile away," Dean muttered, continuing down the hall. He entered the foyer and took a deep, steadying breath. It had only been about a month since they lost the bunker, but it felt like it had been years.

The bunker was their home... the one they'd been searching for their whole lives. Now that they had it back, he wasn't going to give it up. Not for anything.

He had intended to go to the kitchen, but apparently his feet had other ideas. He went up the stairs, bypassing the exit and heading for the garage, a sneaking suspicion creeping into the pit of his gut.

"God answers all prayers, right?" he whispered to himself. He entered the garage, accompanied only by the sound of his own echoing footfalls. His eyes quickly scanned over the line up of cars in the Men of Letters' garage.

_"Baby,"_ he said, his voice hushed with a mixture of joy and awe. In between a World War II style motorbike and a '57 Chevy Nomad sat the Impala, completely unharmed and shining like it had just rolled off the assembly line an hour ago.

He went to his car, running his hand reverently from her trunk up to her hood, paying close attention, making sure she really was as mint as she appeared.

He pattered her hood. She was in perfect shape, by all appearances.

Dean tilted his head, looking to the garage's ceiling. "Alright... this, I'll thank You for. Whoever the hell You are."

He didn't receive any response, not that he expected any different.

Dean opened up the driver's side door and slid into his usual seat. He took a moment to just let the smell wash over him – leather, gunpowder and Sammy's aftershave... a sense of peace washed over him. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself.

"Mind some company?"

Dean's eyes opened. He leaned over and peered out the passenger's side window, meeting Sam's gaze.

"Someone's up early," Dean observed.

"At least I have pants on," Sam retorted, eyeing Dean's boxer-clad lower half.

"Shut up and get in," Dean said, unlocking the passenger side door. Sam climbed in. He was in his sleep clothes, sweat pants and a v-neck. He was unshaven, and his hair was a mess. Sam yawned loudly and rubbed his fists against his eyes. Dean grinned.

"What?" Sam asked as Dean revved the engine. God, he'd missed that sound so damn much.

"You always used to do that when you were a kid," Dean explained. "I'd get you up for school, and you'd get so friggin' excited – come on, what kind of kid likes school – and you'd hop up, get ready ten times faster than I ever did, and you would end up just standing by the motel room door, holding your backpack and yawning, rubbing your eyes, waiting for me to hurry my ass up."

Dean pulled out of the Impala's parking spot. He hit the button for the garage door. They cruised out into the misty autumn morning. The garage door shut behind them.

"You know how many times you made me late?" Sam asked. There was no venom in his words, so Dean laughed.

"That time they gave you detention for lates – that time in Everett – Dad made me go in and talk to your teacher, explain that it was my fault."

"They still gave me detention," Sam remembered.

"That's 'cause that teacher you had, Ms. Attenborough? She was a total bitch." Dean paused. "Kinda hot, though."

Sam made a face. "Dude."

"What? She was!"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

For about ten minutes, they just drove. Orange, red, and yellow ripped by on either side of them. Dean rolled down the windows, not minding the cold, wanting to taste the crisp, clean air.

"I can't believe it," Sam said eventually, breaking the comfortable, contemplative silence.

"Gonna have to specify," Dean told him. "There's a lot of shit in the past few days that's been unbelievable."

"Just... everything. We finally got it." Sam laughed, carding a hand through his wind-mussed hair. "After thirty plus years of literal and metaphorical Hell, we finally got our reward."

"Everybody lives," Dean said quietly. "Just this once, everybody lives."

"Everybody lives," Sam echoed. "I– I uh, realized something, though. Something we should probably talk about," he continued, sounding almost nervous.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Heaven's locked up, Hell's Gates are shut probably permanently..." Sam pursed his lips briefly. "Dean... this could be our chance."

"Our chance to do what?" he asked, shooting his brother a confused look.

"To get out," Sam elaborated.

"What, you mean get out of hunting?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Do you remember, back when we were figuring out the trials, you said that– you said that me growing old, living a normal life, being happy, that was your happy ending," Sam said. "But what if we can both have that?"

"Sam..." Dean sighed.

"Heaven and Hell have been the source of pretty much all our problems for years. With both the angels and the demons out of the picture, the world's gonna settle down a _lot_."

"There's still monsters out there. Ghosts, vamps, werewolves, ghouls–"

"I know. But there are other hunters."

He wasn't wrong.

"Is this something you're really considering?" Dean asked after an uncomfortable pause.

"It's something... it's something I think we should consider. I mean, if ever there was an opportunity for us to start new lives, it's now... seeing as now we've actually got people to start new lives with."

"Can you really see me and Cas in the suburbs somewhere, playing Domestic Dan and Sally?"

Sam was quiet for a moment before saying, "About as much as I can see Crowley and I doing it. That's to say... not at all."

"So why are we even talking about this?"

"Because I feel like we should want this."

Dean glanced sideways, briefly meeting his brother's eyes. "Forget what you feel like we should want. What do _you_ want, Sam? What do you really want?"

Sam sighed, eyes going distant. "I want... this." He gestured around them. "I want to hunt. I want to save people. I want to do what we've always done, just without the blood and the death." His eyes flicked around. Sam was thinking. "It's not that simple though, is it?"

"With us, it never is," Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel. "You still got that dream? Rebuilding the Men of Letters, changing hunting for good?"

"I do."

"Alright, good." Dean's focus went back to the road. "Let's do that."

"Just like that, huh?" Sam seemed amused.

"Just like that," Dean confirmed.

"This won't be easy," Sam warned him.

Dean snorted. "Never stopped us before."

"Sane people would see the chance to run screaming from this job and take it."

"Well, no one's ever insulted us by calling us sane," Dean replied.

Sam smirked at that. "So, we're really gonna do this?"

"We are."

Sam's smirk transformed into a genuine smile. "I'm glad."

"Blue skies all around," Dean said. "By the way, I know you didn't bother to ask for it, but yes, you have my blessing to... do whatever the hell it is you're doing with Crowley."

"Oh, I need your permission?" Sam raised one of his eyebrows. "Funny, you didn't ask me if you could date Cas."

"Who says I'm dating Cas?"

Sam bitch-faced him.

"Shut up." Blushing, Dean turned on the radio, catching an ELO song halfway through. "Okay, yeah. Me and Cas, we're a thing. You and Crowley, you're a thing."

"Yep."

"And that's..."

"Good."

"Right."

They were quiet for several moments.

"We were straight a few months ago, weren't we? Or did I just imagine the decades of heterosexuality?" Dean questioned.

"I guess we're both a little more flexible in that area than we thought," Sam responded.

"No kidding... but like you said, it's good. The four of us, it works." He shot Sam a small grin. "Team Free Will. Ride or die."

"If you would've told me last May we'd be here now, looking at a world without angels and demons, I–"

"–would've probably been more distracted by the 'banging your arch nemesis' thing," Dean cut across him.

"Fair enough." Sam raised his hands. "Regardless... it's a long road ahead, but..." Sam scratched the back of his neck. "I couldn't pick better people to be going down the road with."

Dean flashed a smiled at him. "We better start heading back," he said. "We've got work to do."

Sam nodded his agreement. Dean turned the Impala around.

"Ooh, good song," Dean said, cranking the radio up.

_"–on my wayward son,_

_There'll be peace when you are done,_

_Lay your weary head to rest..._

_Don't you cry no more."_

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_

**THE END**

(...but nothing ever really ends, does it?)


	87. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the authoress prattles on about things you probably don't care about.

Usually I wouldn't do something like this, but after posting this story for two years (and writing it for longer than that) I wanted to just leave this final long author's note- fun facts and various other things, for those who are interested.

In case the ridiculously obvious reference went over anyone's head, Crowley's cat, Aziraphale, is named after the angel from Good Omens, who's best friend just so happens to be a demon named Crowley. Crowley drives a black 1926 Bentley in this story as well, just as his Good Omens counterpart does.

Laharl, Crowley's loyal lackey, is named after the demon prince Laharl from Disgaea: Hour of Darkness, a turn-based strategy RPG for the PS2 that sucked up several thousand hours of my existence.

I named Sam's Reaper, Cecil, after the character of Cecil Lively from the X-Files episode, "Fire", who was played by Mark Sheppard.

The Hagen family from back in the Gabriel Arc was named in memorial to Curtis Hagen, who was killed on White Collar shortly before I wrote the chapter.

The story behind the name's simple: I'd started writing the outline, and I saw a commercial for Falling Skies on TNT. Bam.

This story wasn't even really intended to be Destiel at first (I was flipping back and forth on the idea) and it DEFINITELY wasn't supposed to be Mooseley. I ended up shipping Mooseley through writing the story, and the more I thought about it, the more I couldn't see the story going in a different direction than Sam and Crowley ending up together.

The mental link between Crowley and Sam is inspired by the link between Eragon and Saphira in the Inheritance Cycle.

I was originally going to have Gabriel toss Dean and Cas into different television shows – Sherlock and Doctor Who – but I decided that since TV Land had already been done, I should try something new. I was trying to find a good Destiel fic to read (not an easy task) and the ideas for the cliched AUs hit me. And yes, I spent a day of my life reading shitty high school and coffee shop AUs to prepare for the task.

I mentally cast people as OCs when I'm creating them so I have a better idea of what they look like; Anthriel was played by Jennifer Morrison, Nisroc was David Morse, Xaphan’s first vessel was Jeffrey Donovan, Laharl was Seamus Deaver, Lailah was Emily Wickersham, Bela's new meat suit was Olivia Wilde, Daityas was James McAvoy, and Fergus MacLeod was David Tennant... naturally.

I gave Crowley a cat specifically so that I could kill it, causing him to shout, "THEY KILLED MY CAT!" which is a homage to Romo Lampkin, who was Mark's character on Battlestar Galactica. Aziraphale's appearance also matches that of Romo's cat.

Crowley's vessel's name is a combination of Clay Sullivan and Jim Sterling, two characters both played by Mark Sheppard. I made a LOT of references to characters played by Mark Sheppard. I may have a bit of an obsession.

I lost count of how many House references I put into this fic.

I'd never seen any episodes with Garth when I wrote him into this fic. I went back to revise after I had, and I realized that I'd pretty much nailed him.

I wrote the first sixteen chapters of Falling Skies in less than three weeks.

I'd only watched about thirty episodes of SPN when I started writing Falling Skies in July of 2013. I originally wanted it done by the time the season nine premiere rolled around, and then I would post each week. Obviously, that didn’t happen.

The original FRM back story I wrote for Crowley was way too happy, so I had to redo it. It’s still too happy, and now it makes me cringe, because the show’s canon is far superior to the story I made up for him.

It was a constant struggle not making this entire story solely about Crowley.

The ending changed from its first form, and it's all Videtur Iterum's fault. I was going to originally have Crowley go back to ruling Hell, but after a few conversations with her, I was forced to face facts: there's no going back for Crowley, and I'd rather him be human. So, Crowley gave up being a demon for Sam. Because HE DESERVES TO BE LOVED.

I rewrote the ending for this not one, not two, not three, but four times. The fourth and final rewrite was completely last minute. I was ready to post the original version of Chapter 81 when I made the executive decision to scrap it and start over. I think this ending is far, far better.

I got the first line of this fic wrong: Dean said "Angels... they're falling." not "The angels... they're falling." I’ve edited it since, but the error remained for quite some time.

The reason Cas landed by Sandusky was because I was going to Cedar Point that week. The rest stop Cas finds his way to was based off of the one I stopped at on my way there. And yes, there was a lot of shit with the word "Ohio" plastered on it.

Rose MacLeod was named after Rose Tyler from Doctor Who.

The spell that Team Free Will used to summon Death is a spell from _Charmed_ that I translated into Latin because I'm trash.

During the process of writing Falling Skies, I finally found THE idea: the concept for my original novel. I began writing it in earnest in August of 2014 and finished July 2015, and many ideas and characters from Falling Skies make an appearance, and more recently, certain characters from my original novel have bled into Falling Skies.

Anthriel, Nisroc, and Laharl all made it into my original novel. Gazardiel, who appeared briefly in later chapters of this, is one of my main characters. The idea of searching for the Garden of Eden also made it into my book as a bit of a side quest for my characters in the fifth book. The concept of Stygian blades and telepathic links is also present.

The character of Veronica Whitaker is actually from my S10 AU, Game of Shadows. Which, yes, I'm going to take the opportunity to shamelessly plug here: if you liked Falling Skies, you will probably like Game of Shadows, because it is once again me taking matters into my own hands. Though there's no slash, there's Crowley/OFC... better than nothing, right? Also, for those who care, I picture Veronica as Karen Gillan.

Charlie wasn't supposed to be in the story other than in passing, but I quickly realized that she was too much fun to write and it was a moral obligation for me to put her in the story. Also, Charlie was originally supposed to die horribly (but eventually be brought back) but when the show killed her, I basically kept her alive in protest.

And yes, I'm still really fucking angry about Charlie. I will never _not_ be angry about Charlie.

This story was only supposed to be fifty chapters. Whoops.

The finale battle had three sources of inspiration: Age of Ultron, The Lord of the Rings, and a concert I went to when I was in the process of writing it. You want to see war without actually going to war, kids? Go to a ska punk concert. Bring a suit of armor, if possible.

All the chapter names are songs. As has been pointed out by several people, yes, I do have an incredibly eclectic taste in music.

This story was inspired primarily by two songs; Panic! at the Disco’s “Trade Mistakes” and Mumford and Sons’ “Sigh No More”.

If you think that Chuck’s conversation with Cas was just me using Chuck as an avatar for myself and bitching about how hard writing is, then you are absolutely fucking right. A+

That's all I can think of, fun fact wise... for those curious about a sequel: truth be told, I don't know. I'm very focused on my original work right now, and I'm slowly trying to finish up all of my fanfiction so I can try to put all of my effort into what normal folk call 'real' writing. But still, there are a lot more ideas I have for this universe... so maybe this isn’t the last we'll see of this version of Extended Team Free Will. Plus, I think at the very least I owe you all some kind of Leverage follow-up.

For those wanting for an epilogue and answers for the questions I didn’t answer... well, it’s all about free will, right? So I had an epiphany -- why not let you choose? I did have an epilogue down for this, but if I posted it, I think that’s missing the whole point.

I’m leaving it up to all of you what happens from here. Every person will see things differently, and in the end, that’s the beauty of stories.

To finish up here... thank you. Thank you all so, so much for reading this, for giving it a chance. I never in my wildest dreams thought that this story would blow up the way that it did. It’s been such a source of comfort to me for the past two years. No matter what was happening in my everyday life, I always had this to come back to. It’s seen me through some huge changes, and two of my biggest formative years. I started this when I was a spoiled, naive, sheltered, idealistic sixteen year old. Now I’m eighteen, holding down a job, learning some of life’s harder truths, traveling, seeing more of the world than I ever have before, and finding out who I really am. I wrote a book, I’ve got dreams, I’ve got a future, but whenever I think about my past as a writer and as a human being, this story will come to mind. It is not perfect. There are parts that make me cringe, parts that I know could’ve been done better, but still, Falling Skies, Supernatural, and the journey both have taken me on is something that will always be a part of who I am.

Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me, no matter whether you’re reading this long after it was finished, or if you’ve been with me from the start.

Thank you.

* * *

FOR THOSE INTERESTED:

_a Falling Skies playlist!_

Sigh No More - Mumford and Sons

Trade Mistakes - Panic! at the Disco

Little Lion Man - Mumford and Sons

  * to me, this has always been Crowley's anthem



Viva la Vida - Coldplay

  * final battle was in Jerusalem... Fergus's wife Vida... I wasn't exactly subtle, was I?



After the Storm - Mumford and Sons

Wonderwall - Oasis

Kryptonite - 3 Doors Down

Hopeless Wanderer - Mumford and Sons

  * the ultimate Destiel song, without a doubt



Science of Fear - The Temper Trap

King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men

Savior - Rise Against

Soul Meets Body - Death Cab for Cutie

arms - Christina Perri

  * I know it's lame, but this song gives me extreme Mooseley feels. _"I can't decide if I'll let you save my life, or if I'll drown."_



Shake It Out - Florence + the Machine

Hey Brother - Avicii

Silverspoon - Louden Swain

The End is Where We Begin - Thousand Foot Krutch

Welcome to the Black Parade - My Chemical Romance

Move Along - The All American Rejects

Cry Thunder - DragonForce

Fury of the Storm - DragonForce

Through the Fire and Flames - DragonForce

  * I had these last three on repeat when I was writing the Ackergill chapters.



Hail to the King - Avenged Sevenfold

Shepherd of Fire - Avenged Sevenfold

War of Change - Thousand Foot Krutch

Hope - We Came as Romans

Nothing Left to Lose - Heaven's Basement

King Nothing - Metallica

For Whom the Bell Tolls - Metallica

Hey Jude - The Beatles

  * *single tear*



All My Love - Led Zeppelin

  * *many tears*



Changes - David Bowie

Heaven - Angels & Airwaves

  * oops, I gave Kevin my taste in music



The Ice is Getting Thinner - Death Cab for Cutie

Came Back Haunted - Nine Inch Nails

The Hand That Feeds - Nine Inch Nails

How Far We've Come - Matchbox Twenty

Us Against the World - Coldplay

Two Worlds - Phil Collins

  * don't you fucking judge me



Lest We Forget - The Brothers Bright

The Cave - Mumford and Sons

We Will Fall Together - Streetlight Manifesto

AKA...Broken Arrow - Noah Gallagher's High Flying Birds

I Found - Amber Run

Land of the Living - Matthew Perryman Jones

Whispers in the Dark - Mumford and Sons

  * in case you haven't noticed, I was really on a Mumford and Sons kick when I was writing this.



Dark Come Soon - Tegan and Sara

This Is War - Thirty Seconds to Mars

  * it's a little scary how well this one fits Falling Skies



This Is Gospel - Panic! at the Disco

Kashmir - Led Zeppelin

Collar Full - Panic! at the Disco

The End of All Things - Panic! at the Disco


End file.
